


Forever?

by freckleslikeconstellations



Series: Can I Be Your Goldfish Forever? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, F/M, Fluff, Mycroft has body issues, Reader has giggling issues, Reader lacks confidence, Strong sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its been several months since the summer carnival and now with Christmas just around the corner Mycroft and you find that it's a time for fun, reflection and looking towards the future. </p><p>The sequel to Can I Be Your Goldfish?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> I really hope you enjoy this. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to KTdid? who put the idea of doing a sequel to Can I Be Your Goldfish? into my head in the first place. So thank you very much KTdid? because without you this wouldn't exist! :) 
> 
> But I also want to take this opportunity to thank you all for the wonderful support that you've shown me regarding all my stories this year, and I'm looking forward to seeing what responses the new year will bring from you all. :) 
> 
> So, with that said, I'd also like to wish you all a very happy Christmas and new year. :)

The street outside the Kensington house is busy, chatting couples and small groups of friends stroll quickly past, all of them wrapped up in coats, scarves and gloves in an attempt to better fight off the chill that’s in the air. But the gravel entranceway of the house is still and quiet. Lights shine out of the downstairs windows, projecting a feeling of warmth and making the old, beautiful red brick house look inviting amongst the steadily growing darkness. 

 

You sit atop the kitchen island in said house, your cheeks slightly flushed because the open plan kitchen isn't exactly the best for keeping in the warmth, and even with the oven on it’s still a little cold. 

 

Despite the fact that you’re not entirely warm however you couldn't be any happier because you’re spending your first Christmas Eve with your boyfriend Mycroft Holmes, and the pair of you fully intend to spend at least part of Christmas Day together too. Not that, that had gone down without a small amount of protest from your respective families, with you promising to spend a couple of days with your parents during the week between Christmas and New Year’s and Mycroft promising that he’d visit his on New Year’s Day instead. Whilst you also couldn't be any happier to be spending more time in this wonderful house. For although you've been to a couple of Mycroft’s other residences in London since you've been together, the Kensington one has always remained your favourite. In fact you'd been enamoured with it ever since you’d first stepped inside it the day after you’d experienced that fateful day at the park with Mycroft, and even after all these months you can still remember some of the feelings of wonder that you’d first felt as you sit here now. Remember the feeling of slight awe that you’d felt when Mycroft had unlocked the black door and you’d stepped past him, brushing lightly against him as you’d stepped into the house for the first time and taken in the black and white chequered floor of the entrance way, the long and slightly spiralling staircase that had been off to the left, the mysterious looking dark wooden doors that had been off to the right, and a slither of the kitchen, which lay to the back. And Mycroft had watched you with a look that was both gentle and filled with amusement as you’d taken in the scope of everything. Then, once you’d righted yourself and looked back at him instinctively he’d supposed playfully that he better give you the tour, and once again you’d had that same feeling of awe as you’d gone around and taken in the old furniture with your eyes and the interesting books that lined several shelves of the living room. The only room that he hadn't taken you into, perhaps understandably, for you’d not long since been dating then, had been his bedroom. And that’s a room that still remains elusive to you in this particular house. But one thing _had_ struck you about the rooms you’d visited, and that was the fact that although bits of them looked distinctly lived in overall they could have passed for rooms dressed in an old house that the public visited. At the time you’d tried to be reasonable about it, telling yourself that it was hardly like Mycroft was at this one house all the time after all. But then when you’d gone to a couple of his other residences you’d found the same to be true of them too. So you’d attempted to convince yourself that perhaps it was just Mycroft’s tidiness that had made the residences all share that one link. But you hadn't been able to shake off a feeling of unease and sadness. And finally, last month, such feelings had come spilling out of you when you’d suggested that since Mycroft would be spending the Christmas period at his Kensington house perhaps you could decorate it to make it look more homely. You’d felt determined to do such a thing in fact. But Mycroft had been reluctant at first, saying that it would just be a waste of your time since you’d only have to pull everything back down again, and that it wouldn't be worth it for the short amount of time that he’d actually be there. Yet when you’d explained a bit more of your feelings to him he’d relented, on the strict term alone that it only meant having the living room decorated. And you’d felt pleased by the fact that he’d allowed you to do that much at least. But then when the time had come to put such decorations up you hadn't been able to resist draping a long piece of tinsel around the banister of the staircase, and Mycroft had rolled his eyes at such a thing at first. You’d noticed however the small smile that he’d worn as he’d looked at it more intently when he thought that you weren't looking, and you hadn't been able to help but feel pleased. Just remembering it now in fact makes you feel pleased, for you felt then and _still_ feel that you’d been able to do something nice for Mycroft, and a silly smile emerges on your face now in the present, whilst your legs automatically swing back and forth a bit. Then you remember that you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the dinner so you give a quick look across to the left towards the oven. Mycroft’s making some sort of stew for you both, and to your relief you see that the saucepans are bubbling away on the top of the oven quite nicely and that everything seems to be under control. Then you smile even more in the next moment when Mycroft comes sweeping back into the room, carrying a bottle of mulled wine that he found in the drinks cabinet in the living room. 

 

He seems to be quite intent on going across to get a corkscrew to open the wine, but as his eyes go to you automatically out of habit, and when he sees the playful smile that’s toying around your lips, he can’t help but stop and just take you in for a moment. And with your f/c festive jumper that has a large picture of Rudolph on it and your dark jeans he can’t help but notice that despite the silliness of your jumper you look very nice, before he muses with a smile of his own, “I can’t help but wonder what you’re finding so funny this Christmas Eve Miss L/N?” Then he looks down at himself and plucks at his own jumper with his hand, before he looks back at you and adds, “Could it be that you’re finding my attire suitably amusing?”-

 

But he gets no further for a burst of laughter leaves your lips. And then as you take in his jumper more yourself-a blue festive one, which has a white silhouette of Santa’s sleigh being pulled across the sky by reindeer on it-you splutter out, “Sorry, I just can’t believe that I _actually_ got you to wear that,” as you wave a hand. For that was another thing that you know Mycroft would never have allowed before you. 

 

“As I recall you took me by surprise and sneaked it over my head just as I was beginning to cook, and when I was quite helpless, having already washed my hands and begun the preparation of food and all,” Mycroft tells you as his lip twitches, and you laugh a bit again. But then you quickly fall silent when he asks you conversationally, “Do you know what I put this down to Miss L/N?” with more of an intent look on his face. And then, when you slowly shake your head he goes on, “It’s because of what I told you the day after the park, after we first kissed, do you remember?” 

 

So, “About me affecting your mind?” you ask, and your own lip twitches as you remember the memory. 

 

And Mycroft nods. Then he walks across swiftly towards you, and even though he looks a little ridiculous in his jumper over his white shirt, paired with his smart, grey pinstripe trousers, the way that he walks across to you and the intent expression that’s on his face still makes your heart skip a beat. Then he sets the mulled wine that he’s chosen neatly down upon the counter beside you, before he casts you a bit of an assessing look with his eyes, and even though you can feel your cheeks, not to mention other parts of your body getting considerably warmer, you simply can’t take your e/c eyes off his blue ones. Then, in the next moment, he closes the distance between you and you draw your legs apart instinctively so that he can step in between them, before his head drops slowly down towards you. And your lips part automatically to let out a final apprehensive breath, before the kiss that you know is coming. Then, just before the moment where his lips tentatively close over yours, your eyes flutter shut, whilst your hands automatically go up to his shoulders. Tonight, you discover, he tastes a little of brandy and smells of pine, and you think that he must have been admiring the Christmas tree that you’d put up in the corner of the living room again, and the thought makes you smile into the kiss. But you barely get the chance to begin enjoying it however for all too soon he pulls away. And, not satisfied with how short that kiss was you open your eyes. But your face softens a little and your lips close, before you swallow when you see the soft yet calculating expression that Mycroft’s got on his face as he watches you. 

 

Then, “Yes, about you effecting my mind,” Mycroft clarifies, and your hand goes up to instinctively caress his cheek now, which causes one of his hands to go up just a moment later so that he can hold it there. Then he closes his eyes and you let out a little breath, before he opens them again and tilts his head to the side. Then he cradles your hand and draws your knuckles to his lips, and the sensation of his lips sliding in between them makes you let out a bit of a ragged breath combined with a gasp. Whilst the act of you crying out his name a moment later sends his eyes swivelling back to you as his hand still holds yours aloft, his fingers carefully cradling your palm. 

 

And _God,_ Mycroft wishes more than ever that you could see yourself then. For he thinks that if you could then the image projected back to you would serve to eliminate all the doubt and uncertainty, not to mention all the moments where you've lacked confidence in your life, because _God_ you look so beautiful. So beautiful with your hair a little mused, your e/c eyes shining a little in the light, and your cheeks dusted with a blush as light as the covering of icing sugar on a Christmas cake. Not to mention the way that your lips look so red and perfect. And the way that you’re looking at him. Well, _God_ it just makes him want you even more because he can tell that you want him so much too. And it’s no wonder, what with all those things considered, that he ends up confessing, “I should tell you that, that’s not the only thing you affect however.” And the way that you look both immediately pleased _and_ embarrassed, before you duck your head down shyly shouldn't have such an effect on him but it does. For it just makes him lose a little more control of himself and want you that bit more. So he slides back to you, before he bends and turns his head so that he can press a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His touches send you wriggling and that in turn has him making a noise of protest in his throat, before your hand moves out of his so that it can curve around to support his back and hold him close. His hands then move to clutch at either side of your waist and it’s only when you make a sound that’s clearly in protest, rather than filled with your desire for him, that he stops. 

 

Then, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean”- he begins, worried that he’s moved too fast for you, for you haven’t even had dinner yet after all- 

 

But, “It’s not that,” you tell him, clearly embarrassed again, and he notices now that you can barely look at him, “It’s just that I think the saucepans need adjusting.”

 

And when he looks across to the oven instinctively he sees that you’re right. For the water in one of them is bubbling up and frothing against the lid. So he lets out a bit of a frustrated breath, before he turns back to you. Then he says, “In that case please excuse me for a moment my dear,” and he looks at you just long enough to see the way that you nod to acknowledge his words, before you swallow in a rather embarrassed fashion with your head ducked and your eyes deliberately averted. Then he gives you a quick pat on the leg, before he goes across to sort the saucepans out. 

 

You lift your head back up again as he moves away from you, and then your eyes fix on his back as a more prominent flush weaves its way across your face. For you've got a little adventurous in your relationship with Mycroft since you've started dating, you've been caught in between him and the settee and felt his arousal pressing against you, and his hands have tentatively gone underneath your top and explored the flesh there, even creeping up to gently cup at your breasts through your bra, whilst yours have tentatively pressed against the flat of his stomach. But you've never seen each other naked let alone gone all the way, and though you want to and you know that he wants to too, you both always seem to only get so far before the reality of what you’re doing just makes you giggle and too embarrassed to continue any further, something which in turn had served to make Mycroft chuckle and the absurdity of the situation set in for him too, and then the atmosphere around you had become light again rather than one full of sexual tension. And now any time things end up moving a little towards that direction you can’t help but feel an extra tingle of nerves on top of the usual ones because of your fear of giggling and messing things up again. Whilst you can tell that Mycroft’s gotten increasingly annoyed the more its continued to happen, and quite frankly you can’t blame him, for you’re annoyed too at the way that every time you begin to think that this is it now, that it’s actually going to happen tonight and you’re actually going to have his naked body against yours and feel what it’s like to have him entering you, you spoil it all by laughing. You don’t even know why it happens, you just have to put it down to the fact that you’d wanted to go out with Mycroft for so long and now you’re suddenly finding yourself in these peculiar situations that not too long ago would have just been fantasies, your mind can’t actually cope with the fact that its happening so you start laughing. And then, as soon as you start to become more aware of what’s going on, and even more than that begin to think about what your past self would have made of it all, you just can’t stop. You wish you could though, for it’s frustrating, _so_ frustrating-

 

But, “Dinner’s going to be ready in a minute, so if you want to set the table?” Mycroft interrupts your thoughts now as he looks back towards you, and as he does so he can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking about, for you look awfully serious all of a sudden.

 

Yet, “Of course,” is all you say automatically as your face clears, before you hop off the island. 

 

And Mycroft wishes that you’d slide down it instead of jumping off it because he doesn't like the thought of you getting hurt. But even so he can tell that you’re okay, so his mind goes back to the expression that had been on your face just now instead. Then he asks, “Is everything all right?” which makes you stop on your way across to him to get the cutlery and give him a bit of a questioning look, so, “You were looking very thoughtful just then,” he elaborates. 

 

And he notices the way that the blush on your face seems to grow and the way that you quickly avert your eyes, before you look back and tell him, “Everything’s fine.” Then you finish making your way over and stand on your tiptoes so that you can give him a quick reassuring peck on the cheek, before you go to grab the cutlery from the drawer. 

 

And though Mycroft watches after you curiously for a moment, turning slowly on the spot as you go from the drawer to the table, he doesn't have time to probe you further just then. So he merely lets out a little breath, before he turns his attention back to the oven. 

 

Whilst he’s eating and sipping at his share of the mulled wine, although he finds himself wondering again about your thoughtful expression as he looks at you and takes in the way that both your hair and eyes are shining in the light, he can’t help but get a little distracted again. Then he wonders if tonight might be the night that you’re both able to take your relationship to the next level. And as he wonders about it he hopes that it will be. For although he has to admit that he finds the way that you can only get so far, before you get this expression on your face like you can’t quite believe you’re in this situation with him and burst out laughing, absolutely adorable, not to mention hopelessly endearing, he has to admit that he’s felt a little frustrated the more that its continued to happen. For as much as he realizes that you can’t help it he can’t help but want to know what it would feel like to have your naked breasts pressed against his equally naked chest and to be inside you. Neither of you have had that experience with anyone and he wants to share that new moment with you. Wants to finally discover what all the things he’s begun to wonder about since that day in the park and dating you would feel like…and he swallows now, before as his mind deliberately tries to go off that route-for getting rock hard when he still has to take you out for the night does not sound appealing to him-he comes to wonder about the expression that had been on your face earlier once more. And as he does it suddenly occurs to him that perhaps you’d been dwelling on your little problem too, for he realizes now that you’d only started to look more thoughtful _after_ he’d made that suggestive comment and increased the heat between you, and he curses himself inwardly now. For the last thing that he wants to make you is even more self-aware, but he knows that, that’s exactly what he might have done. And so he wonders a moment later if he should bring up the topic just so that he can try and make amends for any possible ill feelings that he could have caused you, and his lips part uncertainly as he does so. But then he worries that bringing it up might only do further damage so he closes them again, his brow furrowing as he does so. 

 

You sense him watching you though and you look at him questioningly a moment later. Then, when you've finished your current mouthful and he still hasn't said anything you ask him, “What is it?” softly. 

 

So he shakes himself a little out of his worry now, and then his eyes soften as they come to fix on yours, before he reaches across the table to cup your hand briefly with his. Then, “It’s nothing,” he murmurs, deciding not to mention anything for the moment. But then at your disbelieving expression he changes his mind a little and decides to add, “I was just thinking about how I hope that we can have a nice evening together that’s all,” for that way you can just take his words at face-value if you wish, or explore the deeper meaning of them if you want to. 

 

Yet, _“Oh,”_ is all you breathe, and he knows then that you know what he’s _really_ been thinking of. 

 

And as he makes the realization he waits tentatively to see if you’ll mention anything, but when a couple of minutes pass and you still just look hopelessly embarrassed, and you're barely able to even look at him in fact, he feels worried that he’s just made things worse and made you even more self-conscious about everything. So, “F/N, I”- he begins automatically, as his hand goes to cup at yours again, and a trace of worry fills his blue eyes as you look back up at him. Then, “I-I'm not expecting, that is, I want you to know, that just because we’re doing things together tonight and um, well it’s Christmas tomorrow and everything, I'm not”- he goes on, feeling a little annoyed with himself as he finds himself being just as awkward as you about things. For one of you needs to take control of the subject, that much is clear, and since you’re far too nervous to do so it has to be him, but he’s nervous too… _more_ nervous than he’d like to admit in fact.

 

But at him breaching the subject you’re only more embarrassed, so, “Right, yes, no of course you’re not, I wasn't,” you begin in as equally a flustered state as him, before you swallow and then try and get yourself more together when you go on, “I'm not expecting anything either,” and he jerks his head forwards. 

 

Then, “Good,” he murmurs, before you both go hurriedly back to eating, and Mycroft hopes that he’ll be able to make you feel less awkward and self-conscious as the night goes on. 

 

As you go back to your own thought though, your mind can’t help but go back to how silly and foolish you end up feeling every time you end up laughing and diffusing the heat between you. For most women you are sure don’t behave half as silly with their partners as you end up doing whenever things get a little heavy between Mycroft and you. And you can’t help but worry that what with him already getting annoyed it’ll only be so long, before he has a proper conversation about it with you and decides that you’re an absolutely hopeless case and that he should never have got together with you in the first place. For you know that it must be quite a big issue to his mind what with him already having had the courage to mention it tonight, so how long can it really be before something like that happens? How long can it really be, before he’ll dismiss you and make it so that these past few months since you got together have been like a dream? And just the thought of that happening, of losing him now, makes your insides go all swirly and your lip feel like it’s moments away from trembling, and your eyes feel like they’re moments away from tears, because you don’t want that to happen. _God_ , you don’t want that to happen. But you don’t want to cry and lose it in front of him right now either. So, as a little breath escapes you and threatens to be the first release of many, you swallow hurriedly, before you fling your hand out towards the glass. But it catches against the side of it awkwardly and you let out a bit of a horrified gasp as the glass tilts and the wine splashes up against the side, before a couple of droplets spill over the rim onto the white table cloth and stain it like blood. The glass itself doesn't fall though, for Mycroft catches it and tilts it back into a standing position. And as you see him doing such a thing another gasp of breath leaves you, before you sit back more in your chair, your hand twirling around and around the white napkin that’s on your lap in a fidgety, anxious fashion.

 

Mycroft watches you for a moment, and as he does so and he sees the way that you’re anxiety seems to have got a hold of you completely he can’t help but feel troubled. Then as he sees how you tilt your head up a little and close your eyes, no doubt to try and stem the flow of tears that he senses are lurking behind your eyelids, he feels even more so. So, “F/N?” he calls across to you softly. And then after you swallow a couple of times, before you open your eyes and look at him he says, “What is it my dear? Please tell me what’s wrong with you.”

 

And his gentle tone nearly sends your tears out, but you force them back and swallow. Then your hand goes for your glass again, thankfully not spilling any of its contents, though you can’t know how it makes Mycroft frown when he sees that your hand is trembling. And then, as you take a sip of your wine, you wonder whether or not you should be honest with him. For although you know the subject has already been breached tonight and you don’t have to worry about how he will react to it per se, the fact that breaching it might make all your emotions and tangled fears spill out of you _does_ make you worry. For you don’t want your one residing memory of the night being you crying and making a fool of yourself, whilst Mycroft holds you in his arms. You want to enjoy it and you want _him_ to enjoy it too. But the more you think about it the more you realise that _not_ trying to explain partly about how you feel right now will probably send Mycroft into a troubled state and leave everything hanging awkwardly over you. So, not wanting that either, you just take another sip of your wine, before you take a little breath of courage as you lower your glass carefully back to the table. Then you breathe out, “I just, I just feel bad for laughing all the time,” and Mycroft’s face softens at once at your words, his brow which had become furrowed when you’d started to speak becoming smooth once more. But still you feel the need to tell him, “I-I do want to, um, take things further with you, you know that don’t you?” because you don’t want him to worry that the reason you find yourself unable to go any further is him. Don’t want to make _him_ feel self-conscious about it all. 

 

And despite the fact that he _hadn't_ been worried about that, for he’d seen the desire in your eyes enough times by now to know that the feelings you professed to have were true, he can’t help but feel pleased at hearing such words nonetheless, and as he feels such a thing he can’t help but want to reassure you that he wants you just as much too. Yet at the same time he doesn't want to scare you either. So he just takes things slowly for a moment by simply smiling and reaching across so that he can take your still trembling hand in his and stroke it. Then he muses in a rather careful yet flirtatious tone, “Yes of course I know. In fact, perhaps in that case I should attempt to get all your laughter out, before we return from the park tonight,” and your cheeks become tinged with pink at his suggestion, which in turn sends something pleasurable swirling about his stomach. 

 

Then you both exchange small, shy smiles with each other, before you both go on to finish off your respective dinners. 

 

As soon as everything’s eaten though and you’re both feeling comfortably full, not to mention warmer, you carry your dishes across and abandon them in the sink. Perhaps you’ll deal with them later. For now though you’re both keen to get to the park and see where things will lead from there. So you tug on your respective coats, Mycroft a black one that is three-quarters long and you a slightly puffier grey and black one, whilst you blush a little as Mycroft adjusts the collar of yours into a tidier position. Then you slide on your black fingerless gloves, before you make to wind your f/c scarf around your neck. Mycroft, doing things in a different order from you has already put on his blue and navy scarf by this point though, so again he carefully helps you pull on yours, before he slips his large hands into his black leather gloves. Then, together, you both step out into the cold, dark night. 

 

After you've done so you turn and wait a little for Mycroft to lock up, bouncing a little on your heels and shoving your gloved hands into your coat pockets as you do so in an attempt to keep warm. 

 

But when Mycroft turns to you, sliding the key into the pocket of his coat as he does so, he’s got a troubled look on his face again. And after studying you for a moment he asks you, “Are you quite sure that you’ll be warm enough my dear?” before he adds, “You could have my coat if you wanted, I've got another one in the house that I could fetch for myself, it wouldn't take a minute,” for he doesn't want you getting ill from tonight. Especially with it being Christmas tomorrow and all. 

 

But you just shake your head at him. Then, “I’ll be fine Myc,” you reassure him, and he swallows a little at the nickname, for although he’s heard it from you so many times by now he still finds that it sends a twinge of something that’s both odd and pleasurable down him. And even though he knows by now that he feels the agreeable part because of the fact that it’s _you_ calling him that and because of the way he feels for _you_ , he still finds it a little strange when he considers that up until he’d fallen in love with you he’d always hated it when anyone shortened his name. 

 

He doesn't have a chance to dwell any further though on how peculiar the effects of love can be, for you’re waiting for him, so he just nods and offers you his arm instead. Then he waits for you to free one of your hands from your pockets and place it delicately on his forearm, before you both make your way off into the night. 

 

Although you shiver a little to begin with once you get going it’s not too bad, what with Mycroft beside you, helping to keep you warm and murmuring to you every now and again about different things as you walk. You’re excited too about getting to the park, even though it does feel a little strange to be heading back there for an event with Mycroft beside you. Strange too when it occurs to you that at this event, rather than just being friends, or actually more like acquaintances like you had been before, you’re now boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s nice though, _so_ nice, and the feeling makes you let out a little contented breath, before you snuggle closer to said boyfriend. 

 

And Mycroft smiles down at you at your action, before he murmurs, “Is everything all right?” 

 

So, “Yes,” you breathe out happily as you clutch onto his arm a little tighter, and he smiles down at you again. 

 

Then, once you get to the park you take a moment just to stop inside the entranceway, before a gasp of delight leaves your mouth because everything looks so beautiful. For at the back of the park, where the big wheel had been that summer, there’s now a fairly large ice rink, whilst in front of it and to the right are several stands selling food and hot drinks with a seating area just behind them. To the left meanwhile are several stalls selling all manner of festive goods, from stocked picnic hampers to give to loved ones, home-made Christmas cards and jams and marmalade to beautiful winter inspired jewellery, and your body itches to see everything up close. Four tall Christmas trees, real, not fake, stand proudly in each corner of the park meanwhile, adorned with silver, red and blue decorations and with a brilliantly lit yellow star upon each of them. Whilst soft Christmas music plays in the background-currently _‘Silent Night’_ -and acts as a pleasant soundtrack to the whole thing along with the excited chatter of everyone there. And hanging above everything and finishing the scene off nicely as they cast everything in a soft glow are white fairy lights, which create almost a pathway to everything in the way that they've been strung up. 

 

Mycroft watches your face all the while as you take everything in, and him doing so makes him feel oddly emotional. For he can scarcely believe that you’re both back there again for another special event and that he’s getting to see that same look of wonder on your face that had been there that past summer. Can scarcely believe that this time you’re _his_. And as you let go of his arm he takes your gloved hand in his automatically, which makes you look at him, your eyes sparkling once more in the light as you remember how hand holding had first become your thing that previous summer. Then, “Where would you like to go first my dear?” he asks you softly. 

 

So you give him a warm smile, before your eyes go instinctively across to the ice rink. But a cloud seems to pass over your face as they do so, and when you look back at him he sees that you’re biting at your lip uncertainly.

 

Yet even though he can see that your uncertainty is back he’s determined to try and ensure that you make the most of everything and that you leave the park later on with no regrets, so, “The ice rink?” he suggests, and he squeezes your hand a little as he does so because you've looked away from him again. 

 

Then you swallow for a moment as you look back at him, before you admit softly, “I want to, I've never been ice skating before, but I-I'm not sure if I’ll be any good at it.”

 

“Well,” Mycroft begins, “I dare say that neither of us will be giving a performance worthy of Torvill and Dean tonight, but at least if neither of us are that good at it we’ll be suitably hopeless together,” and your face can’t help but brighten at his, _‘We’re all in this together,’_ attitude. 

 

Then, “Okay,” you murmur, feeling more willing to give it a try now despite your anxieties, and he smiles encouragingly at you. 

 

So, together, with your gloved hands linked, you begin to make your way across to the rink. 

 

As you go though you can’t help but look up every time you pass underneath one of the sets of softly sparkling lights, and each time you do so Mycroft sends a little fond smile your way. This happens once you’re nearing the back of the park, and you’re just lowering your head back down again when you catch sight of him watching you and you can’t help but blush as your eyes meet his for the most fleeting of moments, before you look away embarrassedly again. 

 

But, “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he tells you with a sincere softness so you look at him again. Then you smile a little uncertainly as you wonder what’s going through his head right at that moment. For you can’t know that once more he’s finding you astoundingly beautiful and wishing that you wouldn't get embarrassed or disbelieving about this most obvious of facts. Of course he doesn't want you to be one of those arrogant women who think they look good all the time either, but he just wishes that you could get to a stage where you can accept how pretty you are. And not only that but how pretty _he_ thinks you are. But even though you don’t know all his thoughts right now, you can sense that they’re pleasant and encouraging ones towards you nonetheless, so the two of you exchange soft smiles with each other, before you complete the last few steps across to the ice rink. 

 

Once you’re there a woman greets you and finds you both a suitably fitting pair of ice skates, before you crouch down so that you can take your shoes off and swap them for the skates. But in the end you find it easier to sit down on the slightly damp glistening grass so that you can pull your skates on that way, even if it does make Mycroft, who’s still worried about you catching a chill from the night, frown a little.

 

And not being able to leave you to your own devices for long because of his worry for you, not to mention the fact that he feels sure he'll be able to get the skates on you quicker, he murmurs, “Let me,” so your hand automatically stills from where it had just been about to reach for one of the skates as he crouches down with a bit of a frown on his face. 

 

Then, even though people and noise surround you, you somehow block all of that out as your eyes narrow their focus to just Mycroft. Mycroft as his hand carefully picks up one of the skates and readies it with his long fingers for you. Mycroft whose eyes leave yours for barely a moment as he tenderly slips the skate onto your foot. Mycroft who looks so beautiful underneath the softly glowing lights as he carefully does up the laces, making sure that they’re not too loose, but not too tight either. And in that moment, just for a second, you feel beautiful too, feeling rather like Cinderella, before the sound of everything seems to rush back to you and makes you avert your eyes and swallow. 

 

But Mycroft, still in the moment and entranced by you once more, simply whispers, _“There,”_ huskily, so you look back at him, before you shiver a little when his hand runs slowly down from the top of the skate, brushing against your leg briefly, before it runs all the way down to your toes. 

 

And then he completes putting the other skate on you with the same care and gentleness, before he stands and helps you do the same. 

 

You nearly overbalance a little as you do so, and your hands catch just beneath his shoulders, whilst his hand increases its firm grip around your waist, before you steady yourself. 

 

Then, “Okay?” Mycroft checks, so you nod, before you watch as he tentatively lets go of you and makes to reach for his own skates. He gets the first one on without too much fuss, and your hand instinctively goes to caress his back as he bends to do up the laces. But then, and now distinctly lopsided, he gestures to your shoulder, before he asks, “May I?” 

 

So, “Of course,” you tell him, before as he places a hand, first gently upon your shoulder and then more firmly to help steady himself you wrap an arm around his waist to further support him as he wrestles with the remaining skate. 

 

His attempts to put this one on don't go as smoothly though, and he huffs out a couple of frustrated breaths and nearly falls off the side, but you quickly pull him back up with your arm. Then your bodies collide with each others as you do so, and make you stagger backwards, which causes him to have to rescue you, before he finally gets it on. 

 

And he casts you a bit of a relieved calculating look after he does so. Then, as he takes his hand off your shoulder and his eyes go to it he murmurs, “I'm sorry about that my dear, I hope I wasn't too rough with you?” before his eyes go back to yours once more. 

 

And you feel a stirring of something inside you, so you blurt out hurriedly, “No, no, you were fine,” in an attempt to cover it up, and Mycroft sends you a bit of a curious look now as you look away and as he wonders what’s going on in your head. For he can’t know that your mind had acted of its own accord and rather embarrassedly gone to _another_ activity that can get a bit rough if you let it…

 

Then, once you finally get yourself under control enough to look back at him again, you carefully make your way in a penguin like fashion to one of the narrow entrances of the ice rink, hand in hand again as you do so. 

 

But once you get there Mycroft tugs your hand back a little so that you don’t go any further. And then, when you look back at him questioningly, he says, “Perhaps I should go first just in case you fall,” before he frowns a little. 

 

But now that you've both got your skates on and you’re so close to discovering what ice-skating is like for the first time you’re too determined to hesitate now. So, “No, it’s okay, I’ll go first,” you tell him. 

 

And Mycroft frowns again. But he can tell that you’re set on the matter so, “If you’re sure?” he says, wanting to check with you one last time.

 

And you are so you nod at him, before you face the front. Then you move forwards with deliberate steps, almost as if you’re about to step onto the moon’s surface for the first time, before finally your skates touch the ice. You almost fall straight away when they do so, for one leg slides forwards away from the other, and you can hear Mycroft letting out a loud gasp and almost see his hands reaching towards you automatically even though you've got your back turned to him. But thankfully, at the same time as you’re registering all of this, one of your hands goes to cling onto the side, before somehow you right yourself once more. So, still clinging on there for dear life you move across a little to give Mycroft more room to make his debut on the ice. But, feeling both reassured that you’re safe _and_ a little afraid now that he’s seen you almost fall so soon, Mycroft is now frowning at the ice calculatingly, his hands grasping lightly onto the sections of barrier that are either side of him. And when you see the way that he’s trying to work it all out, as if he’s just been placed up against a rather formidable colleague at work, not to mention when you sense the apprehension that’s brimming inside him, you immediately want to help. So you slowly turn properly back towards him, and your skates slip a little clumsily against the ice as you do so, before you tentatively let go of the side, your hands waving about in a windmill like fashion in the air. 

 

Mycroft catches sight of your jerky and somewhat frantic movements out of the corner of his eye, and as he quickly looks up and realises what you’re doing he murmurs a cautious, _“F/N?”_ at once. For he knows that you’re only trying to help and support him, but he’d feel a lot better if you just took care of yourself and stayed by the side right now.

 

Yet although you hear him you’re too determined to stop now. So, with your heart somewhere in your throat you move in slow, jerky movements until you’re level with him. Then, whilst you wear an expression of the utmost concentration on your face you slowly stretch out your arms towards him, and your skates shift a little on the ice to accommodate your new position, whilst Mycroft watches you nervously, before you gesture with your fingers for him to grab onto you. And you feel very much aware of the couple that have now taken to wait just behind Mycroft rather than going to one of the other entrances as you do so. 

 

Then, after swallowing, Mycroft looks at your face one last time, before his eyes go down to fix on your hands. And slowly he inches forwards and reaches his own gloved hands towards them, before he suddenly snatches hold of them, first lightly and then with an exceptional strength that has you wincing as he moves forwards. Yet the moment that he’s on the ice you feel sure that he’s fine, so you give him a little encouraging tug forwards with your hands. But your action throws him and sends him hurtling towards you, and his eyes are wide and fear-filled as he does so because he’s terrified of hurting you. Then your bodies thud into each other with a force that has your breath leaving your mouth in a gasp, before as you both try to regain your respective balances you twirl around each other a couple of times, gripping onto one another all the while as you do so. And by the time that you both come to a final stop, with you now facing the entrance of the ice rink that you came through and Mycroft’s body blocking the sight of it from you, you can feel your legs trembling slightly, so you take some deep, calming breaths, whilst your fingers shift against the material of Mycroft’s coat. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile takes some deep breaths of his own, his hands on your elbows, and his fingers rub at them instinctively as he asks, “Are you all right?” whilst his eyes fix upon you concernedly. 

 

So, because you feel like you can’t speak at that moment you just nod, whilst your fingers make more prominent movements against his coat. But you can tell that the fact that you’re not talking is only making him more concerned. So you breathe out, “Fine…I'm fine, I just need a moment that’s all,” and he nods a little uncertainly at you, his fingers rubbing at you still. 

 

Then slowly, as you come back into yourself, you tentatively let go of him and move off to the side of him, and his hand helps guide you lightly into position as you do so. Then you link your arms with each other as you begin to move, before as you keep banging into each other-making one of you all the more likely to fall-you adjust your position so that you’re now just holding tightly onto each other’s hands as you skate around instead. 

 

It takes a little while, and there are several close calls, but the more that you move around without falling the more confident you grow, and although Mycroft’s grip is still tight upon you, you begin to loosen your hold on him. He looks at you as you do so, so you send him a bit of an encouraging grin, before you let go of him altogether. Then you attempt to spin around on your own. And when you do so successfully your face is flushed from not only the cold but with your triumph as your hands come to rest upon his chest once more. Then Mycroft shifts his position a little to accommodate you, before, and once you’re both still and steady again your eyes go from his chest, as soft puffs of breath leave your mouth, to his face. And then something-as you see his lips beginning to part so that he can ask you if you’re all right- mischievous begins to fill you. So, with a sudden desire to show-off and be a little silly, you tell him, “Come on Myc,” before you grab at his hand, whirl around again and attempt to lead him across to the far wall on the right.

 

 _“F/N”-_ you hear him protest in surprise at once. 

 

But rather than make you falter or look around at him as perhaps it should, it just spurs you on and makes you grin. 

 

Then, “C’mon Myc!” you call back over your shoulder encouragingly at him, a bit of a laugh escaping your lips along with your words.

 

Yet just a moment later your skates catch against each other clumsily, before you go flying forwards. And already in too much of a falling position to be able to right yourself you end up tugging Mycroft right up against your back, so that he thuds into it, before you both go spiralling down together, a heap of limbs on the ice. 

 

Mycroft’s the first to react, and though he feels a little winded he’s acutely aware that he’s sprawled on top of you, so he lifts himself off you with a start and moves to the side of you, before he murmurs, _“F/N?”_

 

But when you don’t answer he shifts closer to you and places his hands lightly on your shoulder blades, before he tries, _“F/N?”_ again as he immediately feels more concerned. For what if he’s really hurt you? What if you’ll have to go to hospital? And he feels tightness in his chest now that he’s pretty sure doesn't have anything to do with having fallen. Tightness in his chest that re-calls all those lonely days that he hadn't even realised that he’d been experiencing, before he met you. 

 

But then you let out a bit of a groan so his sudden descent into despair comes to an abrupt halt. And as you lift your head slowly up from the ice he scrambles around towards your head, calling out your name as he does so. 

 

Then, “F/N?” he says once more as you use your arms to lift yourself up into a sitting position, and he takes the crook of your elbow with a firm gentleness to help you. Then, “Are you all right?” he asks you a little breathlessly. 

 

Yet when you just nod slowly and run a tentative hand back through your hair, he thinks that you’re still a little dazed from it all, so he takes your hands in his as you sit up facing each other on the ice with both of your legs sprawled off to the side a little awkwardly, weighed down by the skates. But then in the next moment your face lights up in a beam and you giggle a bit, before you say, _“Gotcha!”_ with your eyes light and sparkling. 

 

Yet instead of Mycroft’s face relaxing all he knows is hurt and anger in that moment. Anger, as he realises that you’d deliberately been silent and taken advantage of the whole situation. Anger that you’d prolonged his worry for you more than had been necessary. Anger that you’d acted so _thoughtlessly_ towards him. And his face slowly darkens as he takes all of this in, and as he feels it doing so he takes in how suddenly hesitant and uncertain your face looks in turn. But his anger is too great for him to try and reassure you in that moment, so he tugs his hands away from yours, before he says, “You shouldn't have done that. You know how I worry, ” and the cutting disappointment in his voice makes your face fall at once.

 

Yet just as instinctively you feel the need to try and make things up with him, so you begin to say, “Mycroft, I”- before words fail you, and so you swallow for a moment and look away. Then you look back at him and say uncertainly a moment later, “It was just a joke…” but still his face is stern as he looks at you, and for a stupid moment you’re reminded of Mufasa being disappointed with Simba in the Lion King. But then you shake your head to clear it of such silly thoughts because you don’t want to be the stupid, Disney-loving, clumsy, awkward version of you right now. You want to be the woman who can make her boyfriend smile again. So, in an attempt to do so, you force a smile onto your own face as you remind him, “You know? Like you did over the summer, before we went on the ghost train?”

 

But though Mycroft’s face flickers with something softer for a moment it soon turns rigid again. Then he says, “Yes, but that was just to surprise you and make you happy, not to make you worry,” in a dismissive fashion, before he rolls around and clambers to his feet. 

 

And for a moment, not sure what to do, and feeling more annoyed with yourself because of such a thing, you just let out a bit of a breath and swing your legs around, before you draw your knees up to your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position because of the skates, but you far from care right now. And then you just duck your head down with the full intention of staying there stubbornly for as long as it takes to work things out in your head. 

 

Mycroft sighs a bit when he peers down and sees your new position and how your hair is now covering your face and shielding it from him. Then, with his anger fading a little, he extends a hand towards you and says, “Come on,” a little heavily. 

 

So you swallow, before you look back up at him. And though the gesture of his hand being willingly extended so that he can help you to your feet makes you feel a bit lighter, and though you’re keen, though you would never admit such a thing to him, to get off the ice, for quite frankly it’s freezing your bum, you still feel hesitant. For you don’t like the way that he’d just been looking at you and you don’t like the fact that he’s disappointed with you. 

 

But his anger only spikes again at such hesitancy, and as it does so he wriggles his fingers a little impatiently at you, before he demands, “Come on F/N,” with similar intolerance. 

 

And him saying your name so sternly has you feeling even more reluctant to get up. But when he wriggles his hand again and when you gather from the look on his face that he’s about two seconds from giving up on you and turning to leave altogether, you do so. Yet as you do so one last part of you remains stubborn so you don’t take his hand. 

 

But that just annoys Mycroft even more, and he tugs the back of your coat so that he can help you stand anyway, before his hands go underneath your arms to haul you up more that way. Yet his sudden and unwanted touches send you wriggling in protest, which in turn causes him to almost swear at you in frustration. But he’s still in control of himself to a point though, so instead of swearing at you in the end he just huffs out a breath, which brushes against your ear and sends you squirming even more like a frightened horse. 

 

So, “For God’s sake F/N!” Mycroft says, unable to hold back the anger that he’s feeling any more. For don’t you have any idea of what you’re doing? Don’t you realise that you’re just making it all the more likely that an actual injury _does_ occur? 

 

But, completely out of control by that point, you just attempt to pull back from him in so much alarm that you very nearly send the pair of you toppling to the floor, and it’s only because Mycroft wraps his arms against your back, before he pulls you tightly to him so that your arms are rammed up uncomfortably against his chest, that you don’t. 

 

Then, as you stand there, finally still against him apart from the slight trembling of your body, you feel like crying as you stare fixedly at his dark coat and breathe hard. You can’t help it though. Not when you feel like you've messed everything up and when you can feel such a powerful and breathtaking amount of anger radiating from him. 

 

Then, “I don’t think we should ice-skate any more tonight,” Mycroft says evenly, before he adds, “Not when you’re like this, you’re going to get us both hurt.” And he can feel the soft, _‘Oh,’_ of disappointment that you release automatically against his chest, and a pang hits him as you do so, for he knows that even though you might be happy to stop ice-skating at that point you don’t want to disregard it altogether. But once again he’s too angry to listen to what he knows you want right now. So he thrusts you back from him a little and studies the way that you can’t look at him, and the way that he’s pretty certain that you’re crying because of the moisture that he can see at the bottom of your cheeks, as he holds you at arms length. Then, whilst he feels even more annoyed with everything, he lets go of you-in an irrationally gentle fashion considering how he’s feeling-before he turns around with a wobbly kind of flourish. 

 

You follow him as he makes his way off the rink silently, wiping your tears from your eyes as you go, and you swap your skates for shoes in as equal a silence. Then you begin to wonder if you should say something, even though you don’t have any idea of what. 

 

But then, before you can figure out how on earth you’re supposed to make your boyfriend smile again, Mycroft says, “Fancy a hot chocolate?” in a bit of a gruff voice, so you nod at him a little uncertainly as you murmur your assent. 

 

Then he gives you one last calculating look, before he marches off in the direction of the stand, and feeling rather miserable you trail after him. Whilst you do so you wish once more that you knew what to say so that you could fix things. For you’d wanted the night to be a happy one-the night was _supposed_ to be a happy one-and you hate the fact that even after all these months of seeing each other you don’t know how to make Mycroft smile again now that things have turned out like this. 

 

But as he strides off in front Mycroft still feels angry with you because after what happened on the ice its properly hit him just how much the last few months have meant to him. How much _you've_ meant to him. And most of all he hates the thought that all of that might be taken away from him. But too he hates the thought that you clearly don’t realise just how much you mean to him and how serious the thought of you getting injured or killed is, because why would you dare play a joke, which makes him think that you've been hurt, if you did? And you disregarding his feelings so plainly makes him feel sick to his stomach with rage. But sick with fear too. For he’s never felt like this about anyone before, and the depth of his feelings, which have been revealed to him tonight have shocked and frightened him to his very core. 

 

So, still in a bit of a state about things he orders a honey and almond hot chocolate for you both in an abrupt fashion, before he passes yours to you with a force that sends some of the liquid splashing up, sending it past the wobbling cream that’s been added to the drink and over the rim of the cup. But the sight of it makes him properly come out of his thoughts and into the present moment once more. And as soon as he does and he realizes properly what he’s done he swears softly at the sight, before he feels irritated with himself and the fact that despite his thoughts he’s just risked hurting you himself. Then he grabs a paper napkin from the stand, before he thrusts it unceremoniously at you. You take it hesitantly from him, feeling uneasier as you do so, before you do your best to mop up the spillage. And the sight of your uncertain face, both then and as you shift off to the side of the stand and choose to drink standing up rather than sitting down, makes Mycroft realise the full effect that his behaviour has had on you, and as soon as he does so it makes his anger dim into shame immediately. For although it’s true that you've worried and scared him more than he’d like to admit tonight you’re not the one whose spoilt the pleasant atmosphere of the night, he is. And that was the very last thing that he’d intended to do. So, as he stares tentatively at you, whilst he hopes that one day you’ll be able to feel the depth of his love for you and not treat him so carelessly, and that he’ll be able to feel yours, he breathes out, “F/N, I'm sorry.”

 

You look up from where you’d been avoiding looking at him by staring into your hot chocolate as if it held all the answers to the world’s questions, and as you do so there’s amazement in your eyes. For Mycroft’s not one to usually apologize you know. And seeing your shock just makes him shift his position and makes him feel even more ashamed of the way he’d acted. Then he listens as you ask, “You’re sorry?” and as you do so your breath floats in the air for a moment.

 

But knowing by your response that an apology alone isn't good enough and that you want more, just makes Mycroft shift his position again. And as he stares at you he wonders how on earth he’s supposed to get everything that he’s been feeling tonight out and express such things through words. For how can he make you see that he never wants you to joke about getting hurt because he wants a forever with you? 

 

But then, when he’s still trying to come up with something that might explain enough without him having to try and find the words to explain _everything_ right now, because quite frankly he doesn't think that he can, you blurt out uncertainly, “Maybe I should go”- for perhaps if Mycroft needs more time to think right now, which it looks like he does, then it’ll be for the best. You don’t want to feel like a third wheel to his thoughts all night after all. 

 

Yet, “Please don’t,” he urges you as his heart tumbles down inside his chest. For he hates the idea of you leaving right now just because he can’t find the words, and he hates the idea that he’s managed to ruin the night for you both completely. 

 

But you only shift your position momentarily, before you fix your gaze on your half drunk drink instead of him. Then you say, “No, I-I think I should,” and bite at your lip, before you look at him when his free hand instinctively goes to curl around where yours is on your cup. Yet still you tell him, “I think that would be for the best,” before you get out more securely, “But before I do I-I want you to know that I never meant to upset you Mycroft,” and he suddenly wishes that you’d call him, ‘Myc,’ again. For although it causes him such a mixture of emotions when you do so, he’d do anything to hear the sweetness of it leave your lips right then. Do anything to make you sound as happy as you usually do when you say it. For he hates what he’s got instead, which is a mixture of fear and sincerity in your eyes, and a frown on your lips. 

 

So, “I know,” he breathes out hurriedly, before, knowing that, that’s not really good enough he huffs out a bit of a frustrated breath and goes on, “Please don’t go,” and as his hand tightens its hold around yours now he can feel the warmth that thrums out from your drink. Then, “I-I didn't mean to react so badly, I just”- he begins, before he breaks off awkwardly, for he still doesn't know how to explain, and still doesn't know how to make you understand what he wants you to. Then, “I-I just did,” he finishes lamely, and he can tell by the dubious expression that’s on your face that his words are still not good enough. So he adds a little more desperately, “We haven’t even been around the stalls yet, there’s so much more for us to do,” and, “I-I wanted to buy you something if you liked anything,” and in spite of yourself your lip can’t help but twitch upward a little now at the way that he’s basically just mirrored what he’d told you when you’d left the park in a rush that summer. But you only feel lighter for a brief moment because you can’t help but feel a little troubled about the fact that you still don’t know why he’d reacted so badly to what happened earlier. 

 

Yet, even though you don’t know such a thing, just a moment later you relent, “All right, I’ll stay,” for it’s not like you really want to go and leave him after all, and Mycroft instantly looks happier the moment you do so. 

 

Then, in an attempt to make you smile and make the atmosphere between you as light as he knows it’s capable of being, Mycroft withdraws his hand slowly from yours, before he quickly dips one of his fingers into the remaining cream of his hot chocolate. Then he taps it against your nose. 

 

 _“Myc!”_ you say, wriggling at once in protest, and Mycroft can’t help but feel that everything’s now right in the world with you calling him that and grinning the way you are at him, and a soft breath escapes him because of such a thing.

 

Then he smiles when you get a bit of a mischievous glint in those e/c eyes of yours, before you look down and swipe some of the cream from your own cup onto your finger. 

 

And then he smiles even more when you look back up at him a little challengingly, before you close the gap between you, rolling your hips a little as you do so, and brush the finger that has the cream on it down his nose. 

 

Then, “There, we match,” you tell him, as your eyes flick up to his, before they widen a fraction when you come to realise just how close you’re now standing to him. 

 

And as Mycroft leans down towards you he lets out a little chuckle that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, before he tells you, “I hope we always will,” and then, before you can make sense of the words or realize that he’s been more honest with you in that moment than he’s been since the ice rink incident, his lips are pressing insistently against yours and he’s making a delicious kind of, _‘Mmm,’_ noise as he prises them open so that he can have access to your mouth. 

 

Your head spins as his tongue dances around inside you and as you taste the honey from the hot chocolate on him, before you let out a gasp into his mouth that has him groaning in return as he clutches you to him with his free arm, both of your hot chocolate cups rubbing against each other as your other hands hold them aloft. 

 

Then, as you slowly pull apart, smiling a little at the smudged cream that’s on each other’s noses, you tell him, “I do love you, you know?” for no matter what he’s currently going through you feel like you need to make sure that he knows that at the very least. 

 

And, “Even when I'm mean to you?” he checks, and you detect something both a little desperate and guilty in his eyes now.

 

So, “Yes,” you reassure him, and you’re tempted to say that you wish you knew _why_ he’d felt the need to be so, but as you look at him you can tell that such a statement wouldn't be welcome and that he’s still feeling a little bruised and vulnerable from earlier, so, “Even when you’re mean to me,” is what you confirm to him instead, and he smiles at you as his face clears. 

 

But then, feeling that he still owes you more than what he’s been able to give you so far tonight in words, even though he still doesn't quite know how, he attempts, “In that case you should know that even if you chose to be mean to me,” before he pauses, and your brow furrows a little as he does so, for you detect that he’s trying to send you some sort of message, you just don’t know what, “I’d still only have the feelings of utmost affection for you.” For he wants you to know that whatever words he says to you, and however rude and cold that he manages to act towards you in the heat of the moment, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you. And he wants you to know such a thing because the only thing worse than you dying, getting injured or leaving him right now would be if you did so not knowing the depths of his feelings towards you. Yet still, even though you can tell that his words are sincere, you don’t have any idea of the deeper message that’s lying beneath their surface. And you’re just wondering if you should ask him to further clarify things when he goes on, “Whilst again I must confess how sorry I am for my behaviour earlier,” and your lips part now, but then Mycroft draws himself up more and says briskly, “But now I don’t want us to think about that any more, I want us to enjoy ourselves, so what would you like to do now Miss L/N?” before you can say anything. 

 

And for a moment you just eye him curiously because you can sense that he’s dodging something that he feels is really important, and you can’t understand why, when _he’s_ breached the topic himself, he’s doing so. But then it occurs to you that perhaps he still hasn't found the right words to sum up whatever made him act like that earlier, and that this is as far enough as he can go right now. 

 

Yet then your thoughts halt in their tracks because Mycroft, deciding to be silly because of your face growing more serious when he doesn't want it to be so, sticks his tongue out and attempts to lick off the cream on his nose with it. Then when you let out a bit of a laugh and he fails at his task he says, “Before you make the decision though I think we need to deal with the cream on our respective noses first.” 

 

And you grin, before you go closer to him. Then, as he lowers his head submissively towards you, you let out a little breath of apprehension, before you slowly kiss him on the nose and wipe the cream off it with your finger. Mycroft shivers a little against you. And with the atmosphere between you getting heavy once more you feel too nervous to lick the cream off your finger, so you just wipe it against your jeans instead. Then, as your mouths hover closer together a little uncertainly with both of your lips parted and both of your soft breaths falling against the other, you close the gap between you and press a gentle kiss to his lips, before you pull back from him completely. 

 

Mycroft swallows because the gentleness of your kiss, and the fact that he’d barely been able to feel the press of your lips against his, has left him wanting more. Then he turns his attention to your nose, and your breath hitches in your chest as he does so, and as if he senses such a thing his eyes go back to yours. Blue meets e/c. Then, instinctively wanting to feel your lips against his once more he closes the gap between you, bending down and nudging his nose insistently against you, before his lips close briefly over yours. As he pulls back you let out a little breath of desire, and it makes him smile, his eyes flicking up to yours, before they go back to your lips as he closes in for another kiss. This one has even more of an effect on you and as you stumble a little in your attempt to press against him more he steadies you with his hand on your shoulder, before he pulls away from you once more. Then, as you keep your eyes shut and he stares at you and takes in the soft curve of your eyelashes as they reach down towards your cheek that sense of wonder comes over him again. That sense of wonder that he can’t believe that you’re really his. And then, as your eyes slowly flutter open he swipes the cream delicately off your nose, before he begins to suck it slowly off his finger, and he hears you let out another breath as he does so, so his eyes go to yours once more. 

 

A satisfied little smile toys around his lips momentarily as he catches sight of your dazed expression, before he goes back to work on his finger. Then, _“There,”_ he murmurs once he’s released his finger from his mouth with a final pop, and your eyes go wide, before you listen as he goes on, “Now where would you like to go?” 

 

And you can’t think much right then, for your mind can’t seem to get the picture of Mycroft’s lips sucking on his finger out of it, so you just say, “The stalls,” albeit a little falteringly, as a blush forms on your face. 

 

And then you duck your head and try to distract yourself by finishing off your hot chocolate, but your eyes keep darting up to him and his keep sliding to yours too, and by the time you both dump your respective cardboard cups in the bin, the atmosphere between you has become heavy with an excited sort of apprehension for what might still be to come. 

 

As you walk across the park to the stalls Mycroft seems openly keen to show his affection for you even more, for he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulls you close and makes you stumble against him a little as he does so. And such an action makes you wonder even more about what had made him act the way he did earlier, for he seems so desperately keen to keep you on side now, and you can’t understand why he feels the need to make such a huge effort. Then part of you wonders who he’s making the effort for in the first place, for is it for you? Or is it to try and compensate for the guilt that he clearly feels because of whatever’s been worming its way through his mind ever since the ice rink incident? And why does he still feel so much guilt about it anyway? For you've already said that you’ll stay. And not understanding, but wanting to, you question, _“Myc?”_

 

But Mycroft barely hears you speak, for he’s got the most peculiar feeling that he’s being watched so he shifts a little, his grip on you tightening a little as he does so, before he looks across. And as you watch him, before you follow his gaze curiously you both come to feel surprised when you see the old woman whose stall you’d visited over the summer back behind another stall again. Then you feel another sense of surprise a moment later when Mycroft turns and bends his head so that he can press a delicate kiss to the top of yours. 

 

So, “Myc?” you question as you look at him again. 

 

But Mycroft’s eyes have gone back to the old woman once more, and you feel surprised at the spark you see in them as he looks at her, for you can’t know that he’s feeling glad for the welcome distraction that she’s provided his mind with. Then, to your astonishment, you catch him winking at her. So, “Did you just”- you being in a splutter, unable to believe what you’d just witnessed, before your eyes go automatically back to the old woman again. And you can’t help but notice now that she looks very pleased about something. 

 

But Mycroft’s attention goes back to you then, and he squeezes your arm a little with his hand, before he murmurs with something both light and teasing to his tone, “Well, I had to let our biggest fan know just how well things have worked out didn't I?” and something like mischief glistens in his eyes. 

 

And suddenly you know what he’s doing. Know that what he’s doing now and that what he’s probably been doing ever since the cream incident is just trying to distract himself from whatever he’s figured out tonight. But although you know now you don’t know what you’re supposed to do about it. For what can be so bad to have scared Mycroft so much that he doesn't even want to think about it? And still trying to figure things out you question, “Our biggest fan?” sceptically, as you try to work out your next move at the same time as conducting this non-important conversation with Mycroft. 

 

But Mycroft knows that you’re on to him, so he shifts his position a little uncomfortably, before he goes on, “Well, she was the first one to see us as a couple wasn't she?” and then he adds for good measure, “And although you were still doubting the possibility of such a thing and my feelings were doing God knows what I can’t help but feel a bit grateful for her presence that day,” in the hope that he can keep this conversation going, whilst he tries to work out why you’re not just confronting him. 

 

And, momentarily distracted by his words, your face softens for a moment. Then, deciding to let him off the hook for now you grab his arm, say, “C’mon then, if you feel that grateful you should tell her,” and lead him across to the stall that the old woman’s standing behind. 

 

And Mycroft, knowing that he’s safe from your interrogation for now even though he knows that you surely won’t let the issue go for much longer, swallows in relief as he lets you take him across to the stall. 

 

During the summer the old woman had been selling pretty wind chimes, but now she’s selling winter inspired jewellery. 

 

Yet as you both properly stop in front of her you hardly pay any attention to it, your eyes fixing on her thinning curls, her sparkling eyes and the smile that pulls at her old, wrinkled skin instead. 

 

Then you listen as she says, “I see that if I were to refer to you as being boyfriend and girlfriend today it wouldn't be a mistake,” and as she looks in between you knowingly it causes Mycroft to smile and you to blush. 

 

Then, “No it wouldn't be,” Mycroft says proudly, and your heart can’t help but skip a little beat at his tone and the way that he gives you a quick approving glance, before he shifts to stand behind you, his hands going to grasp hold of your waist, and his nose brushing against your hair as he presses a soft kiss to it. 

 

And, despite the alarm bells that ring inside you and tell you that Mycroft’s just attempting to distract you now as much as he was trying to distract himself earlier, you can feel yourself getting a bit warmer and going a bit silly so when you get out, “Myc wanted to thank you,” it’s with a bit of a giggle as you look at the old woman. But then, wanting to send some silent messages yourself, you pat at Mycroft’s hand with your own, so that you can both tell him off for making you behave in such a way and tell him that you’re very much aware of what he’s doing. 

 

Mycroft doesn't seem to care though, and he just twists your hand around in his, before he lifts it and presses a delicate kiss against it. Yet although a flash of unease flares up in your mind again at Mycroft continuing to go over the top in his attempts to make things up to you, it lasts for the briefest of moments. 

 

For the old woman gives you both a bit of a shrewd, knowing look, before she says, “In that case then perhaps you’d consider buying your new girlfriend an early little Christmas gift from me today?” as she looks at Mycroft. 

 

And as Mycroft chuckles you can feel the pleasant vibration of it against you. Then, “You’re ever the business woman aren't you my dear?” he asks, before he makes a soft, “Hmm,” of consideration as he leans forwards over your shoulder and peers at the jewellery on the stall. So you do the same for a moment too. Then, “What do you think my dear?” Mycroft asks you as he leans back, before he clarifies, “Does anything take your fancy?” 

 

So you make another quick scan of all the pretty pieces with your eyes, and as you do so you see that each of the silver necklaces has a singular charm attached to it and that there are several choices. For some are of a reindeer, others are of a Santa hat, cracker and a crown. But it’s the one that has a snowflake attached to it that catches your eye and which your eyes keep sliding back to. 

 

So, “That one,” you murmur softly, as you point it out to Mycroft now. 

 

And, _“Ah,”_ is his immediate reaction, before he confesses, “That’s the one I was hoping that you’d go for.”

 

And thinking that you know what he means because to you that piece is far prettier than any of the others, you say, “Yes, it’s very pretty isn't it?” in a conversational tone. 

 

“But,” he begins, and he turns you in his arms now so that you’re facing him, and your breath hitches automatically in your chest as he does so, “It’s you I feel sure, that will make it look astonishingly beautiful.”

 

And though you blush and bite at your lip now, once more you feel that something must be amiss because of Mycroft’s behaviour, and you simply can’t carry on ignoring this feeling of unease that it’s causing inside you any more, so you attempt to address the issue when you tell him, “You don’t have to keep trying to make up for earlier, you know?” as you pull back from him so that he’s forced to let go of you. 

 

And Mycroft can’t help but feel a little frustrated at your words, so he lets out a bit of a sigh and takes hold of your hands with his, before he says, “You are the _only_ woman in the world that would act like she’s just been insulted when a man calls her beautiful.” For why can’t you just let him make things up to you properly? Why do you have to act like there must be something wrong with him just because he’s trying to both show you and tell you that he loves you? And why, and he wonders this most of all, can’t you just let him try and distract his mind from everything that he feels scared of right now? But even as he looks at the slightly stubborn challenging look that’s in your eyes as you gaze up at him he knows the answer to all the questions he’s just posed. And the answer is because you know him so well. For you know that his mind’s been working on overtime ever since the incident and you know that he’s realized something tonight, but that he’s trying to distract himself from it all the same. Whilst he also senses that you’re hoping at some point, no right at that moment in fact, he’ll find the words and tell you what’s been bothering him. But he still hasn't found the words to be able to open himself up and expose himself so vulnerably to you yet. He knows though that he needs to at least try to soon, no matter how much it scares him, for you deserve that much at least. So instead of telling you exactly what you need to hear right then, he passes on a silent message to you, whilst he bends down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” you tell him in a soft, dignified fashion, and Mycroft knows that you’re not talking about him calling you beautiful, but that rather you’re thanking him for taking your concern seriously. And thanking him for telling you that he’s trying to do his best to tell you what’s been on his mind and that he hopes he’ll be able to do so soon, which is all-even though you just wish that he’d try to tell you so that you can discuss and go through whatever it is together-you can expect him to do, you know. 

 

And then, seeing that you’re satisfied as much as you can be for the moment, Mycroft turns back to the old woman, clears his throat and says, “We’ll take that one,” as he points at the necklace that you've chosen. 

 

And the old woman nods, before she picks the necklace up thoughtfully a moment later and examines it. 

 

Then, “As your boyfriend just said I'm sure it will suit you,” she says as she meets your gaze a moment later. 

 

And once more you blush, before you shift your position awkwardly. Then, “Thank you,” you tell her politely. 

 

And Mycroft, who’s blushing lightly too at the old lady’s words, with the pink flush of it dusting across the middle of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, shifts his own position now, making you look at him as he does so. 

 

Yet you only look at each other again briefly, before, and as the unresolved tension of not quite knowing where you stand with each other comes to rest in between you once more, you quickly look away from each other again. 

 

Then, “How much will it be?” Mycroft asks as he gets out his wallet a moment later. 

 

And you wait for him to pay and thank him as he does so, which makes him nod without looking at you, before you slowly reach out to take the necklace from the old lady when she hands it to you.

 

Then, for a moment you just let it hover in the air as you wonder whether to put it on right now or just stow it safely in your pocket for later. In the end though you decide that it’ll be too much hassle to put it on right now, for you’ll have to take off both your scarf and gloves to do so, so you just make to put it in your pocket instead. 

 

But, before you can, Mycroft, whose been reading your line of thought clearly, puts a steadying hand on your wrist, before he makes to take the necklace from you. Then, “Let me,” he murmurs with his mouth close to your ear, and you shiver. For you know that he’s inviting a different kind of tension to grow between you now, and it scares you as much as it thrills you. 

 

Yet still, in spite of the fear that you feel, you turn around. And then, slowly, you reach up and begin to carefully unwind your scarf, so that you can reveal your neck to him, before you hold your scarf a little away from you with both of your hands. But you jerk forwards in the next moment, and your breath catches tight in your chest as you feel Mycroft’s now gloveless hand brushing against the skin at the base of your neck as he adjusts the collar of your coat. 

 

Mycroft swallows at your movement, his lips parting a little after he does so, and then he tenderly brushes his hand against your hair momentarily, doing so just because he can, and that he hopes he’ll always be able to do so, rather than there being an actual requirement for him to do so, before he carefully loops the necklace around your neck. 

 

Your breath hitches in your chest again when you feel the silver snowflake tapping against you, before you properly shiver when after your hands reach up to adjust it; the cold metal of it comes to rest against your warm skin. 

 

Then, _“There,”_ Mycroft murmurs, evoking memories of the earlier cream incident for you as your hands lower again, before he spins you gently around to him with his hands on your upper arms. And although he can’t see the necklace his eyes dip down lingeringly for a moment nonetheless, and you, playing this new game a little now yourself, only begin to wrap your scarf around your neck once his eyes flick back up to yours once more. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” Mycroft says to the old lady as he finally turns away from you and slips his gloves back on, and she nods at you both, before Mycroft and you, hand in hand again, make your way a little awkwardly away from the stalls once more.

 

Still, even though you don’t speak for a moment, there’s this energy thrumming between you, and as Mycroft holds you close with one arm, before he bends down to kiss the top of your head again, you let out a little breath and come to a stop. And as you do you feel torn between letting Mycroft distract both himself and you and confronting him properly about whatever's on his mind. 

 

But before you can do either of these things, Mycroft, as he draws his head back up from you, blurts out, “Let’s go ice-skating again,” and the statement, not to mention the soft determination that he’d said it with makes you look up at him in a startled fashion, and his arm adjusts slightly against you as you do so. 

 

Yet even though his words have brought back the hurt and confusion that you’d felt after your earlier disastrous attempt at ice skating, still, still there’s this energy between you that makes you, even as you say, “Ice skating again? I-I'm not sure,” in an uncertain tone, feel a pull towards trusting him and doing such a thing. 

 

But, “Yes,” Mycroft replies, and he nods at you once firmly as the idea forms more concretely in his head. Then he goes on more vigorously, “I can’t promise that I’ll be any more capable at it than I was before, but I’d like for us to go again,” because so far nothing he’s tried has made the thoughts that want to be heard in his mind calm down their franticness, and perhaps this will be the thing to make them do so. For if he can take you there again and have a good experience with you, then perhaps they’ll still and calm inside his head once more. And even though he knows deep down that the idea is ludicrous, and that taking you ice-skating again will only be another temporary distraction for him at the most, he’s too worked up from trying to run away from everything by that point to rationalize it all in his head. So, wanting to convince you of why you should go along with this ramshackle plan of his, he goes on as sincerely as he can, “I-I don’t want us to just have the way we left it as our one residing memory. I-I know how much that you wanted to carry on with it when we left, and I'm-I'm very sorry for not respecting that and for going against it F/N.” And again as he finishes and he sees that same question: _‘But why did you act that way in the first place?’_ swirling in your eyes as you look at him, he feels frustrated that still you’re pushing him for answers, even though he still knows that you deserve such answers of course.

 

But then, to his surprise, you tell him simply, “Okay.” 

 

And it’s that one word of trust from you that makes the dam of emotion break inside him. That one display of resolute faith in him from you, despite the fact that he really doesn't deserve such a thing from you after the way he’s acted tonight, that makes it simply impossible for him to hold everything in any more. So, as he bends down to you once more, and as the side of his nose presses against your cheek as his lips part momentarily to let out a breath, tears begin to spill out of his eyes, before they begin to roll silently down his face. Then his head turns slightly a moment later so that his lips can catch clumsily against yours, before he breathes out, “I love you,” in a shuddery fashion a moment later.

 

But the words don’t have the calming, pleasant effect that they usually have on you. Instead they just make you feel afraid. As do the tears that you can see on Mycroft’s cheeks, and for one bizarre moment you wonder if you’re having some sort of odd night-time experience that’s part dream and part nightmare, for you've never seen Mycroft cry before, and the sight of him doing so just doesn't seem to compute in your mind. For you've always thought of Mycroft being the strong one out of the pair of you, and thought of yourself as the messy, emotional one. But Mycroft’s vulnerable too you remember as you recall the words that he’d told you, whilst you’d been in the hall of mirrors that summer. Not to mention all of his odd behaviour tonight. And as you think such a thing you finally react and your hand goes to cup his cheek instinctively. For suddenly you realise that for weeks you've been focusing so much on your giggling problem and beating yourself up about that, whilst you tried at the same time to overcome it, that you haven’t been focusing so much on Mycroft’s own fears and vulnerabilities regarding your relationship. Haven’t been focusing on the fact that he’s been trying to be the strong one to try and help you and that you haven’t been there for him as much as you should have. And as you touch him and he can see that finally you understand that he’s susceptible to becoming a mess too, he lets out a bit of a choked, watery laugh. Then, knowing that you have to take control right now you tell him firmly, “Let’s go back to yours.”

 

He makes a sound of protest as you do so and pulls back a bit, mumbling something about ice-skating as he does so, but you just shake your head firmly at him. Then you tell him, “No, I'm taking you home,” and he sniffs a bit, before he nods, wiping his tears quickly away and looking embarrassed about having just cried in public. And so, wanting to reassure him, you tell him, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, it’s just me,” as you half-mirror his earlier words to you, and he smiles a bit at you doing so. 

 

But then his face becomes serious once more and he says, “Don’t talk about yourself like you don’t matter,” and, “You do,” and his eyes are blazing with so much fervour as he says everything that it makes you feel both more scared and unsure of how you should react around him. 

 

So you just look down and take his hand with yours silently. Then you stroke at it a couple of times soothingly, before you make to lead him back towards the entrance of the park. 

 

But, _“F/N?”_ Mycroft asks as he refuses to take a single step. 

 

And as you look back up at him once more you can tell what he wants you to say, so you tell him, “ _Fine_ , I won’t talk about myself in that way,” in the hope that he’ll finally move and you’ll be able to get him back to the house so that you can both talk about this. 

 

Yet still he doesn't move. He just stands there and stares at you, whilst he tries to decide if you made the remark flippantly. And he knows that you probably did and the idea of you still not knowing just how important you are troubles him. But then when you stare back at him just as stubbornly he finally decides to let the matter go for now, for it’s not like you can properly discuss it out here in any case, so, “Good,” is all he murmurs in the end.

 

And feeling grateful for him not chasing after the matter more persistently right now you simply let out a little breath, before you finally make to lead him out of there. 

 

The walk back isn't a long one, but in that moment, it’s long enough all the same. Long enough for your mind to panic about what’s going on with Mycroft. Long enough for another part of your mind to yell at the panicking part to calm down because you have to be in control of this. For you know that you have to be the strong one right now and the calm presence that Mycroft needs or everything will go to hell. And you can’t have that. You can’t have both of you falling apart. So you take a few deep breaths to ready yourself for whatever might be about to come as you walk quickly through the night. 

 

Then, once you’re finally back and inside after taking off your scarf, coat and gloves you sit Mycroft down at the kitchen table, the same table that you’d eaten dinner at just a few hours ago, and the same table that you’d been sitting by when he’d been so concerned about you, and how ironic it is that you’re now the one who’s worried about him you think. Then you go and make the both of you a cup of tea.

 

As the kettle boils though you turn back to Mycroft once more. You can’t help it. And as you do so and see that he’s sitting with his elbows on the table and his head bowed in his hands, the sight of him looking so troubled makes something inside you tremble. But you bite at your lip and push your emotion back down, before you force your attention back to the tea. 

 

Then, once it’s ready, you carry both cups across to the table. 

 

But as you put Mycroft’s down in front of him he says, “I'm sorry about ruining your night,” in a hollow voice. 

 

So you pat him on the shoulder briefly and say, “You didn't,” in the lightest tone that you can manage, before you put your own tea down on the table and sit opposite him. 

 

Then, as he looks up at you a bit disbelievingly, his face still tear-stained, and flings one of his hands down on the table you take it with your own, before you stroke down his palm lightly and grip his fingers with yours. 

 

He swallows several times as you do this, and you can tell that he’s both embarrassed about his behaviour and trying to find the words to explain himself so that he can avoid further making a fool of himself. But at the same time you can feel the amount of pressure that he’s putting on himself to do so, and though of course you want him to share whatever’s on his mind with you, you know that it might be better if you start the conversation off all the same. So, after a moment’s more thought you tell him, “I-I know that you’re finding it difficult to talk about what you’re feeling right now,” and his body stiffens immediately, so you stroke at his hand some more. Then you go on, “But I want you to know that even if you don’t feel like you have all the answers right now, and even if you feel like you don’t have the right words, that if you feel like just trying to explain some of it anyway, just up until wherever you've got to, then I’ll be here to listen and try and make sense of things with you, and I won’t judge you,” and you realize as you pause now that it probably sounds like you’re pushing him into doing so, so you continue, “I’d give you more time to think about it yourself, you know I would, but I need to know that you’re okay Mycroft, and right at the moment I don’t think you are.”

 

And he nods and swallows some more in acknowledgement of your words. Then he properly looks at you for the first time since you sat down, and as he does so your breath catches in your chest because of the way that his eyes are wavering with tears, before you listen as he says, “I-I want to tell you.”

 

So you nod and stroke at his hand in the most encouraging way that you can. Then you tell him, “Maybe, if you still don’t feel like you can, you could just give me one line that you have thought of, or something to go on,” before you go on hurriedly, “Is it more than one thing?” For although you’re trying to stay calm the sense of panic from not knowing what’s bothering him is starting to rear its ugly head again. 

 

And Mycroft swallows, and his eyes flick back down to the table as he does so, before he gives one curt nod as his eyes go back up to you again. And as they do so he can’t help but feel scared that you’ll be angry or upset with him if he doesn't manage to get some words out soon. 

 

But you just take a deep breath, before you go on, “And is one of those things about my inability to”- and you break off rather hesitantly now, for although you can’t fathom how your giggling problem would be linked to what had happened on the ice earlier you can’t help but worry that it is. 

 

Yet Mycroft’s eyes widen a bit as he realizes what you mean, and his hand twists around so that it can cup and caress yours, before he says, “God, _no_ , of course not, of course it’s not about that,” and he not only sounds sincere, but horrified that you could think such a thing. So you, feeling somewhat relived take another deep breath, just so that you don’t lose control of your own emotions and let them escape you. Then you open your mouth. But before you can speak Mycroft blurts out, “You’re always so quick to blame yourself F/N, and I don’t like it, and I don’t like how you talk about yourself sometimes, or how you sound embarrassed whenever”- 

 

Yet him beginning to say such things has hit a nerve for you, so you interrupt, “I can’t help how I feel about myself Mycroft,” with a bit of an edge to your tone. For though you’d been a mostly happy child the experiences that you’d had as you’d tumbled through adolescence had made you become more self-conscious and aware of yourself. Not to mention that they’d made you realise how you didn't conform to the so-called norms of society, which in turn had led you to go through many painful experiences. 

 

Yet that response isn't good enough for Mycroft. And he takes your hand more firmly in his now, before he says, “Then let me help you until you can think differently,” and as he pauses for a moment he looks at you in a desperate pleading fashion. Then he carries on, “Because you’re beautiful F/N,” and, “No you are,” he adds when you instantly duck your head in a disbelieving fashion. “You’re so beautiful and intelligent and, _God_ , if you only knew what you do to me then maybe you’d be able to see how special you are,” he goes on, and the passion in his words and the way that he’s looking at you both make you go extremely red. Then, “Because it’s not right that you can’t see it. It just isn't,” he finishes. And for a moment you just stare at him because you don’t know what you’re supposed to say to such things. For the way that you feel about yourself has become so engrained in you that even if you tried to think about yourself differently you’re not sure if, when it came to it, you really could. Mycroft though can see that you don’t know what to say, so, in his element more now, he confesses, “That’s partly why I got so upset tonight, because you joking about getting hurt like that isn't funny, it just _isn't_ F/N. Not to me”-

 

“Well I'm sorry that I disappointed you, but I just can’t help it okay? And I know that you’re probably just always feeling let down by me at the moment because I can’t-because I can’t do anything right”- you begin now, just getting more and more upset with yourself, but then you break off, releasing a huff of breath as you do so, for Mycroft stands and comes quickly around to you.

 

Then he crouches and takes both of your hands in his, before he says, “ _Listen_ to me,” so you nod hesitantly, before you listen as he goes on, “I will only ever be disappointed with you when you fail to realise how much you’re worth, okay?” and as you sniff and smile a bit now he goes on, “That’s the only time.”

 

So you nod, “Okay.” But then, as your hand reaches up to stroke its way rather clumsily through his hair, before it stills once more as you realize that somehow this has turned into him reassuring you when it was supposed to be the other way around, you tell him, “Mycroft I'm worried about you,” because you still haven’t found out about what’s been troubling him. 

 

“And _I'm_ worried about you,” Mycroft confesses, which makes you swallow and nod some more. 

 

But then, as you both come to realize that you’re as bad as each other the tension on both of your faces breaks a little, before you smile briefly at each other. 

 

Then you duck your head down and your hand slides to tug at his hand and toy with his fingers, and he lets you do so patiently, before he listens as you finally tell him, “You seemed so angry earlier.”

 

And Mycroft swallows and ducks his own head down as you look at him again. Then finally he looks back at you and begins, “Not with you”-

 

But, “You _were_ ,” you tell him, “I could feel it.” 

 

And again Mycroft feels that sense of clenching panic inside him that won’t allow him to get the words out no matter how much he wants to, and he feels a greater layer of fear over it this time too. For he knows that he’s only causing you both more anxiety and frustration by not being able to get the words out, and he knows that it will only be a matter of time-what with your lack of confidence-before you begin to doubt his feelings altogether. And he hates the thought that you could misunderstand something so vital. So, feeling determined to make sure that doesn't happen, he blurts out, “I love you,” and you can see the wild fear that he holds inside him in his eyes as he looks at you, and feel the sense of his urgency, and you just wish you knew _what_ was behind it. Yet before you can respond Mycroft goes on, “Please know that, please know that I love you.”

 

And you don’t like his desperate tone, so, _“Myc…”_ you protest initially in a bit of a groan, before you look around a little because you don’t know what you’re supposed to do about his alarming behaviour. Then, “Of _course_ I know that”- you begin as you look back at him. But then you break off for Mycroft, suddenly determined to show you how he feels, lunges up, leaning forwards as he does so, before he begins to press several fervent kisses to your neck. So, “Myc!” you say again, this time in a more startled tone. 

 

But, “Let me show you, please let me show you how I feel about you,” Mycroft urges you with his mouth close to your neck, and you shiver a little as you feel his breath hitting your skin. 

 

Yet though your body wants to go along with what he’s suggesting your mind is slightly hesitant, and, “I don’t want”- you begin a little breathlessly, before you continue as Mycroft looks at you, “I don’t want us just to have sex because you feel guilty or whatever for earlier, I'm the one who made that stupid joke, I'm the one who upset you and”-

 

But, “Stop, _please_ stop,” Mycroft gets out frantically, and so you do so because you can see how much he _really_ doesn't like it when you talk ill of yourself. Then, seeing that you’re not going to carry on speaking badly about yourself, Mycroft presses another desperate kiss to your neck, before he tells you, “And I don’t want us to have sex because of that, we've been trying for weeks…”

 

“I know,” you breathe, before you shift your position, as you feel a little ashamed about your giggling problem again. So, “And I want to as much as you, but”-

 

“You’ll be fine tonight, I promise you,” Mycroft blurts out a little breathlessly, before when you look at him a little dubiously he goes on more fervently, “And even if it happens then I won’t let it spoil things,” and your lip can’t help but twitch upward at that. 

 

Then he surges up a bit, so that both of your faces are level with each other, before he tilts his head and kisses you passionately. You grab onto his shoulders and murmur out his name in a long and breathy fashion in between him kissing you. 

 

Then, finally secure enough to do so, you murmur, “Okay,” as he pulls back from you. 

 

So, _“Okay?”_ he checks your meaning as his eyes study you. 

 

And, “Okay,” you tell him again with a bit of a smile toying about your lips, before you both shift into a standing position once more, your cups of tea now forgotten on the table. 

 

Mycroft can see though that as soon as you stand you start to become nervous and apprehensive about messing things up again, so, taking control once more in the hope that, that way you’ll soon become more relaxed, he bends down a little, before he swings you up into his arms. 

 

 _“Myc!”_ you blurt out in surprise at once, your hands immediately going to wrap themselves around his neck as you do so, before you let out a little breath as he shifts you into a more secure position. Then, as he looks down at you, and you realise that you’re close enough to see every detail of his face, his sweeping eyelashes being one of them, not to mention the way that he’s looking at you with so much love and affection in his eyes, you blush, “You don’t have to carry me.”

 

But, “It’s all part of the service,” he tells you in both a light and soothing tone, before his smile grows when you pat at his chest, before you snuggle closer to him. 

 

Then you say, “Well, in that case thank you,” which has him smiling even more.

 

So he pecks you on the lips briefly, before he asks, “Ready?” 

 

So, “Ready,” you tell him. 

 

And without further ado he begins to carry you out of the kitchen and make the ascent upstairs. 

 

As he does so your mind’s largely blank, focusing mainly on the feel of his fingers upon you and the feel of his firm, solid chest that acts almost like a barrier, whilst your body trembles and shivers a little from the anticipation of what might hopefully be to come. 

 

Then, when Mycroft reaches the landing, before he shoulders his bedroom door open, the stupid thought that you've never been inside it before comes to your half-working mind. But Mycroft has no time or desire to play the tour guide now, and he simply adjusts his hold on you, with his grip tightening on you momentarily as he does so, before he crosses into the darkness of the room even further. 

 

There’s something erotic about him carrying you in the dark, about not being able to see him but knowing that his skin is so close to yours, and knowing that it’s an expanse just waiting to be explored. Not to mention about being able to feel the vibration of his breaths against you, and your heart seems to give a little hop of excitement as you feel each one. 

 

But then Mycroft stops, and your heart bursts in your chest in anticipation of everything even more, whilst your hands wrap themselves more securely around his neck. 

 

And for a moment, it must really only be a few seconds, but each one feels like such a prolonged one, the both of you just stay like that. 

 

Then, “I'm going to put you on the bed now,” comes Mycroft’s firm authoritative rumbling voice, and your breath catches in your chest again. 

 

But, “Okay,” you breathe in spite of yourself, and it comes out so soft that you’re not sure whether it was loud enough for Mycroft to hear, and you’re just wondering whether you should try and speak again when you feel him adjusting you in his arms. 

 

Then you feel him lowering you, and all of a sudden you’re tumbling a little unceremoniously onto the bed, letting out a little gasp as you land, and rolling a little on the soft duvet until finally you come to a stop on your back. 

 

 _“F/N?”_ comes Mycroft’s worried voice at once. 

 

So you swallow and attempt to quickly get your breath back, before you tell him, “It’s okay, I'm fine,” in both a loud and reassuring tone, because you don’t want everything that had happened at the ice rink to come back and spoil the moment now. 

 

And Mycroft huffs out a bit of a relieved breath, before his fingers fumble to switch on the bedside lamp a moment later. And you can’t know just how relieved he feels to both hear and see that you’re safe on the bed and to know that he hasn't hurt you. 

 

Then your breath hitches again as your eyes meet, and you let out a bit of an apprehensive one as he takes a step forwards instinctively. 

 

But then he falters and casts you one last considering look, before he turns away from you and walks across so that he can take his shoes and socks off. 

 

You swing around on the bed and then sit up by the edge of it so that you can do the same, feeling a little surprised that Mycroft had risked you dirtying his plush white duvet with your shoes as you do so.

 

Then once you swing back properly onto the bed and your eyes go to where he’s now at its end you let out another little breath when you see that he’s waiting for you, staring at you intently as he does so. 

 

Then, very deliberately and with his eyes still on you, he whips off his Christmas jumper-which had already been starting to make you smile again-with a flourish, before he tosses it carelessly to the floor. You let out a little squeak of protest at him doing such a thing, but any care for his jumper is soon forgotten when you see how the act of him taking it off has made his hair all mused and how the collar of his shirt is now sticking up in a very attractive and rumpled fashion. 

 

Then after he finishes assessing you with his eyes he tells you, “That needs to come off.” 

 

And as soon as you realize that he means your own Christmas jumper your eyes go down to it instinctively, but then they flick back to him a moment later as you realize that he’s coming towards you again. 

 

Once he stops by the side of the bed before you, your heart’s in your mouth, but he just looks at you calculatingly for a moment. 

 

Then, again in a deliberate act, he slowly lifts your arms up into the air, before he begins to carefully remove your jumper from you. 

 

Your eyes meet for a lingering moment when it’s off, and then, whilst he tosses it aside to the floor, you give a little shake of your head to toss your hair back from your face, before you shiver a little from the shock at having your arms suddenly exposed to the cool air that’s in the bedroom. 

 

It’s when he looks back at you that things get interesting again, for his eyes slide down to where the chain of your necklace is now more visible. But despite taking your jumper off it’s only a little more so, and he can’t see the snowflake charm, which is hidden to him somewhere beneath the material of your white cotton t-shirt.

 

Then, knowing what he wants to see, your hands go instinctively to the necklace’s chain, ready to pull it out so that it can rest over your t-shirt. 

 

But, “Leave it,” Mycroft says at once, his voice coming out in more of a growl than he’d intended it to. And he can see that his tone has surprised you, so he shifts to sit on the bed beside you, before he pulls your hand gently from where its gone still on the chain. “I want it to be revealed to me naturally,” he says, which makes the corner of your lip twitch upward as you relax once again. 

 

So, “Okay,” you tell him with a bit of a smile, before when he leans forwards, his lips parting as he does so in an attempt to catch yours with them, you lean away from him. Then you move to lie down on the bed in a teasing fashion, your eyes never leaving his until the absolute last moment that they have to do so as you tilt your head back.

 

And Mycroft smiles at the sight of you for a moment, before he stands up again so that you can lie down more properly on the bed. 

 

Then, once you've gone relatively still once more, your breaths coming quickly, he turns more towards you again, before he slowly moves forwards until his body’s over yours. 

 

Your lips slide pleasurably together for a moment, and then his tongue teasingly slides your mouth open. 

 

You release a soft gasp as it does so. And then you make a few gasping noises as his pretty pink tongue explores the delicious cavern of your mouth, before you buck and wriggle your hips against his when his tongue taps against yours teasingly. 

 

Mycroft groans at the delicious friction that you’re creating, before he gasps out, _“F/N,”_ as he pulls back from you. 

 

So, getting more into things now, you smile sweetly at him and still momentarily, before you buck teasingly against him again, causing another gasp to leave his lips. 

 

The sound of it has you giggling at once, and your hands clutch onto his taut arms as he hovers over you. And though a moment after they escape you your expression flutters with fear and you gasp out, “I'm sorry, I”- you can’t help but giggle. For is this really happening? Are you really lying on a bed with Mycroft Holmes over you? And as you picture the expression of amused disbelief that you know your past self would have pulled if she could see you now you just begin to crack up even more, despite the fact that part of you is screaming to get it together and to not mess things up now. 

 

Mycroft’s equally reluctant as that one part of you for things to be spoilt now, so he tells you, “Not now, please not now,” in a slightly warning breathless fashion, before his body sinks onto yours once more and his lips go to suck at your neck again. For although the sound of your laughter of course pleases him, not to mention that it sends a twinge of something pleasurable to his groin, he doesn't want to stop now, and he can’t imagine the frustration that he’d feel if he had to do so, before he’d even found the realms of discovery that he wants to. 

 

Yet, even though that one sensible part of you, which wants you to get yourself under control once more, slowly begins to dominate all of you at his words, still your giggles escape you helplessly, until you’re practically wheezing because of them. And still you find it hard to stop thinking of how bizarre and surreal it is that Mycroft wants to make love to you of all people. 

 

In the end it’s only probably the fact that Mycroft refuses to get drawn up in your laughter too, and the fact that he continues his persistent ministrations against your neck, that finally makes your laughter cool into gasps and makes the heave of your body become a pleasant wriggle once more. 

 

 _“There,”_ Mycroft breathes with a little breathless smile at you, and feeling both suddenly grateful for his help in overcoming your problem and like you very much want to resume things properly, despite your current lack of breath, you surge upwards and press your lips insistently against his a moment later. 

 

He makes a delicious groan at you doing so, and feeling more spurred on and like you want to take a little bit of control now that you've finally got over your giggles, you twist him around so that you’re now the one who’s lying on top of him. 

 

It’s only a moment later that you wish you hadn't though. For Mycroft’s eyes go wide and one sharp breath leaves him in a burst, and you can tell that he’s now the scared one, so to try and make things better you reassure him, “It’s okay Myc, I just want to thank you for what you did just now and be the one to make you feel good, that’s all,” as your hands run soothingly through his hair. And even though he nods quickly his eyes are still wide. So, hoping to distract him from the fear and uncertainty that he’s feeling you shift your leg and brush your knee both bravely and rather deliberately against the growing bulge in his trousers. Then, when he gasps at this, his fingers tightening on your back instinctively, you can see that he’s becoming more filled with want and desire again rather than fear so you press an encouraging kiss to temple, before you gasp a little yourself as his body arches up to meet yours. 

 

You lean back from him then until you’re sitting upon his waist, with your lips parted and your whole body quivering from what’s happened this far and what is now most definitely to come, before you move your fingers tentatively to the top of his shirt buttons and look at him again. 

 

Mycroft’s eyes have slid down to what he can see of your hands, but as he senses that you’re looking at him once more they go back to your face. 

 

Then, “May I?” you ask him gently. And then when he nods automatically your fingers deftly begin to undo the first of his shirt’s buttons. 

 

But it’s only just popped free when Mycroft, seemingly having second thoughts, grabs at your wrist so you look at him again. 

 

And when you do a little breath escapes you. But this time it’s not caused by the pleasure you feel but rather by the conflicting thoughts that you can see making their way across Mycroft’s face. For you can tell now that even though he’d encouraged and told you that you’d be able to push through your giggling problem tonight he hadn't dared believe that you’d actually get this far, and now that you have the reality of what that means has hit him. The reality that he’ll have to make himself so vulnerable to you if you have sex with each other tonight. And though you can tell that he still wants to do it you can tell that he’s scared too, so you just watch him for a moment. 

 

Watch as he turns his head off to the side, and as the back of his hair brushes against the duvet, whilst he just considers things for a moment more without having to look at you. And then you listen as he begins cautiously, “I-I know we haven’t really talked much about this, a-and I know I haven’t really mentioned anything, and perhaps I should have, but because of what I told you before, that is, that is my fluctuating weight I'm not really…I don’t, I just don’t know what you’re expecting,” and his voice is all low and embarrassed as he trails off, as if just by bringing that very topic up has not only made him feel less of a man, but that it might have been enough to bring some bad misfortune on to you both, and in that moment, as you stare at him and he finally meets your eyes, you know with a certainty what you have to do. 

 

So, “I’ll go first,” you tell him, and then without any further ado you pull your cotton t-shirt off and fling it to the floor. 

 

Mycroft lets out a bit of a breath then, and you cannot know the depth of just how much gratitude and awe he feels for you in that moment. Gratitude for you understanding and choosing to accept him as he is, and awe that you’d been able to expose a part of your body so fearlessly. But then his eyes get caught up in you, and as you watch him you feel confident that you've made the right decision because his face has a lighter quality about it now, as his eyes roam across your midriff and take in the smooth skin that’s there, before they roam up to where the snowflake charm is now revealed to him, nestled in between your breasts. And he just stares at it for one long moment, before as his hand instinctively gets drawn towards it; you lean forwards slightly to meet him. Then, as the charm now hangs in the air between you, he catches it deftly in between his fingers, and a soft breath leaves your mouth as he does so, before your face relaxes once more. 

 

Then you listen as he murmurs, “I knew it would be worth the wait,” and then your heart skips a beat, before you feel something suddenly impatient and desperate rising up within him. And then his lips are colliding with yours again, and as his hands come up to begin to rub and cup at your chest over your bra in first gentle and then firmer movements, all your mind knows is him. 

 

But as pleasurable as the sensation of him doing both things is to you, it’s not long before you grow desperate with the need to feel his skin against yours rather than to just feel your midriff rubbing against the slightly sharp crispness of his white shirt.

 

So, when his lips slowly drag back from yours, before they go back in for another brief but lingering kiss and then roam down to your neck again you breathe against his ear, “I think we should take that shirt off now.” And you feel him stiffen at once, and feel his lips pulling back from your neck as he fills with uncertainty once more, so to try and further encourage him you say, “Now we've got this far I want more, I can’t help it, do you feel the same?”

 

And your voice is so breathy with desire that it makes Mycroft’s own catch inside him, and as his head spins a little all he can gurgle out is, “Yes,” in equally as breathy a tone. 

 

So, feeling encouraged by his word, you lean back from him a little again, before your hands go to group around the buttons of his shirt once more. 

 

Yet again, despite his clear desire for you, Mycroft stiffens. 

 

So, trying to distract him from worrying about what he might look to you once more, you lean forwards so that your mouth is by his ear and begin to whisper about all the things that you’d like him to do to you, whilst your fingers fumble to undo his shirt at the same time. And Mycroft’s cheeks are flushed crimson by the time you’re done, whilst you can feel his erection straining more demandingly against his trousers. 

 

But you've forced yourself not to look at the slither of skin that you knew would be getting more and more revealed to you all throughout your button undoing. And now that they’re all undone you’re a little hesitant about looking yourself. 

 

So, Mycroft, who, after all the words you've spoken to him, wants nothing more than to be inside you, murmurs, “You can look now F/N.”

 

So, after your breath hitches once more in your chest, you do. 

 

The first thing you see as you do so are the fine curls of Mycroft’s chest hair, which trail down to his navel until they disappear beneath his trousers, and the sight of them makes you swallow. But it’s not enough and you want to see more. You want to see every inch of him and run your hands around and around his chest and count how many freckles he’s got over his entire body. You want to see everything, and this is where everything begins you know. So, after your eyes flick to his once more and he gives you permission with his steady gaze your hands go to slide his shirt off him. It falls off him like the last leaf on a tree in winter, somehow slowly but quickly at the same time, gathering in a pool around his waist, and for a moment he just stays perfectly still, his eyes staring in a rather determined fashion towards the far wall, his breaths coming rapidly as he waits for your response, and his arms still caught up in his shirtsleeves. 

 

But, “ _God_ Mycroft,” you breathe, and then as you look at him and take in his hard nipples and the slight rippling of his chest that’s caused by how fast he’s breathing, not to mention the perfect amount of chest hair, you reach a hand out so that your fingers can press delicately against his upper chest. It’s the lightest of touches but it causes him to gasp out and shiver at once, and his eyes spin back to you as he does so. Then you can’t help but breathe, “How could you ever think you were ugly?” 

 

And that’s all it takes for the final dam to break between you. All it takes for a great rush of breath to leave Mycroft’s mouth. Then he rips his arms out of his shirt and you just have enough time to see that they’re lightly freckled, before he’s swooping towards you and catching your lips desperately with his. 

 

You both let out a bit of a groan at the force of this new contact between you, and then you kiss him back and God the sensation of having your skin against his and his hands roaming across your back as he pulls you towards him is so much better than you could have ever imagined it would be, and it makes you release a breathy gasp of desire into his mouth. 

 

Mycroft’s head is reeling too as he pulls apart from you, reeling with the new feel of everything as much as with the desire he feels for you as his hands explore this new sculpture, this new piece of art that has been put before him, and they caress and rub against your back, before they move around to your sides and explore the firm press of skin there. 

 

You wriggle and pant with desire as he does so, your breaths coming out in bursts out of your parted lips just above his shoulder. 

 

Then, impatient again, his hands go to the top of your bra strap and grab at it a little, pulling it down slightly, before he moves back a bit so that he can look properly into your eyes. 

 

You’re too breathless and shaky with anticipation by that point though so you have to settle for just nodding. But it’s enough, and so he presses a soft kiss to your collarbone, his nose nudging at the skin at the base of your neck as he does so, before he whispers an, “I love you,” as he pulls away. 

 

And those three words send another shiver through you, not to mention that they send your eyes wide, for he’s never said them with such a thrumming emotion before, and you want so badly to speak and to be able to say the same thing back to him, but you just find that you can’t. Not because you don’t feel the same, but because you’re just too breathless and tongue-tied by the whole situation to do so. 

 

But Mycroft, sensing your dilemma and understanding you, just as you’d understood him earlier, simply cups at your cheeks with his hands for a moment, and the pad of his thumb swipes against them a moment later. Then he tells you, “It’s okay F/N, I know how you feel,” softly as he looks into your terrified eyes. 

 

Yet though you nod and feel relieved by both his actions and words, you can’t help but feel foolish nonetheless. For you've gone from giggling inappropriately to now not being able to tell your beautiful boyfriend that you love him. 

 

But such thoughts of frustration with yourself are soon halted when Mycroft slowly lets go of your face, before his hands move around to the back of you and to your bra strap once more. For then it’s your turn to tense up, and although Mycroft manages to release the catch of the strap without too much difficulty, your hands go up instinctively so that you can hold your bra in place and stop it from falling. Then, as Mycroft leans back to look at you properly once more he can tell from the uneasy expression on your face that you’re literally trying to swallow all your worries back down. So he runs a reassuring hand lightly through your hair, before he tells you, “I've already decided that you’re beautiful F/N, nothing’s going to change my mind about that,” as he draws his hand back once more, and it catches lightly against the side of your breast as he does so, which makes you hiss out a little. 

 

But in spite of everything you have to smile a little sheepishly at his words, for you know deep down that you’re just being silly, know that like he was earlier you’re just nervous because of the newness of this situation. Yet still, “I know, I just…” is all you can tell him, before you trail off. 

 

And Mycroft looks at you with the same kind of understanding that you’d looked at him with earlier, before as his eyes sweep down to your bra again he asks, “May I help you take that off?” 

 

You swallow at the question and at the way he looks at you with something tentative but determined in his eyes. Then you nod. 

 

And Mycroft lets out a little breath of anticipation, before he slowly places his hands over yours, and the sensation of him doing so makes you gasp out a little. Then, together, you pull the covering away, before Mycroft takes it from you completely and drops it onto the floor. His eyes don’t stay away from you for long however and as they quickly go back to you, he groans a little. Not only at the sight of your hard nipples and your breasts, which are more perfect than they’d been even in his wildest dreams, but at the way that your snowflake charm rests so delicately in between them.

 

“I knew I wouldn't regret buying you that,” is all he murmurs, before, as you giggle somewhat both nervously and bashfully, his hand gently goes to cup at your breast. 

 

You let out a bit of a gasp at the feel of his long fingers there without being able to help it, and Mycroft, slightly alarmed at your reaction, even though you follow it in the next moment by arching your body towards his and by practically encouraging firmer movements against your skin, stills, before his eyes go to yours again. 

 

But your nerves have become replaced by a desire for more now, so, “Don’t stop,” is all you tell him. 

 

And his lips quirk upward both with a momentary relief and amusement, before his eyes go back down to your breasts as his hand begins to move once more. Yet his fingers have only made a few pleasurable skimming motions of contact against you, before he changes his mind, lets go, and turns you quickly so that you’re now the one who’s underneath him. 

 

It’s been so long that his body was over yours and you soon find yourself losing control even more and crying out, before you buck your hips against him. 

 

But Mycroft, feeling spurred on by the way that you’re reacting to him only becomes more playful now in turn, so he asks you, “I can either kiss you on your lips or kiss your breasts, so what will it be Miss L/N?” in a teasing tone, before he lifts himself up a little so that there’s now a slight gap in between you so that you can have a proper moment without him touching you to consider. 

 

And as much as you want to feel him against you right now you know the answer as soon as he asks the question, so, “My breasts,” you breathe. 

 

Then something deliciously sinful and naughty makes its way around Mycroft’s lips, before he slides down so that he can do his best to deliver your request. 

 

Your eyes follow his progress downwards, but as soon as Mycroft’s pink tongue darts out to touch the peak of your nipple an involuntary, _“Ah,”_ escapes you. 

 

And though Mycroft smiles at that his lips soon curve downwards into a frown as he tries to work out the best way that he can get even more of a reaction from you. Then, deciding to experiment, he shifts forwards a little more, his stomach sliding pleasurably against your skin as he does so, before both of his hands begin to knead at your breasts, causing you to gasp and wriggle against him, whilst his eyes flick to yours all the time. Then he lets go of one, before he curves his tongue around it instead. And the sensation of his wet tongue sliding against your smooth skin makes you gasp. Then, as he starts to get an understanding for what you like and what gives you the most pleasure, Mycroft rubs at one of your breasts with one hand, whilst he lovingly begins to suck and nip at the other, and just the sensation of it has you arching up against him and crying out, your eyes automatically closing as you do so.

 

But you soon realise that you’re close to climaxing already so you open your eyes again, before you get out, “Mycroft I-I”- warningly, and understanding what you mean as soon as you say it he presses one kiss to the breast that he’d been sucking at, before he desists his work on both of them. 

 

Him stopping his acts of pleasure makes you let out one long breath, before your body sinks down into the duvet more as it relaxes again. 

 

But you soon find yourself wriggling against him some more when he shifts down, before he slowly trails a long line of kisses down your body. 

 

And he presses the last one to your stomach, before his hands go to caress against the skin of it lovingly, yet as soon as he’s done and looking at you once more you find yourself gasping out, _“More.”_

 

And Mycroft simply gazes at you with amusement in his eyes for a moment, before he asks you questioningly, _“More?”_ Then he comments, “But I don’t have any more of your skin available to me.”

 

And you let out a frustrated kind of groan at that, before, annoyed by his teasing, you buck your hips against him again, causing his chin to bounce a little on your stomach as you order, “Find some then.”

 

And Mycroft lets out a little laugh of amusement at your words. Then, needing no further encouraging, he slowly leans back so that he can peel your jeans off you, before, and with his face a little awestruck, he runs his hands lightly across the scope of your legs like he’s making a creation out of clay. He does this a few times, and his movements steadily begin to get both bolder and faster, with his hands pressing more firmly against your skin. Yet although you enjoy such things it’s not until Mycroft’s head swoops down and his nose nudges your legs further apart, and when he applies a firm but delicate kiss to the inside of your thigh that you cry out and arch forwards a little. 

 

And the sound and feel of you doing so thrills him, so, feeling encouraged, he begins to press some more kisses there. 

 

But, “My pants, take them off too,” you get out in a laboured voice. 

 

And Mycroft stills, and you can feel the softness of his breaths just hitting your leg for a moment, and the feel of them doing so makes something inside you tighten. Then he pulls his head away so that he can look at you, and knowing that he’s doing so you lift your head up, before, when you see the slightly questioning look that he’s giving you, you force out, _“Please,”_ in one ragged breath.

 

So, after his lips quirk upward for a moment and yours do the same in response, his attention goes to your final piece of clothing, before slowly he places his hands upon it and slides it down. They end up on the floor too, and then all you’re aware of is Mycroft gazing at you, swallowing several times as he does so, and you’re beginning to feel worried because he’s not saying anything- 

 

But then he says, “You’re beautiful, God you’re so, you should see yourself F/N,” and he pauses for a moment now, before he hurriedly corrects himself, “The way I do…you’d never have another doubt again if you did, I”- but that’s as far as he gets, for, overcome with emotion for the wonderful man in front of you who’s treating you with such care, you sit up and pull him to you, your chests crashing against each other’s again as you do so. Then as you end up sitting on his lap your bodies create a delicious friction against each other’s as your tongues wrestle for dominance inside each other’s mouths. 

 

And when you pull away, you all lip swollen, flushed and beautiful, Mycroft lays you down on the bed once more, before he trails another line of kisses down you. 

 

This time he goes down further, until his head’s positioned just outside your entrance. 

 

And your body thrums and tingles all over with desire and want for him to touch you there, whether with his fingers or not. Yet when his tongue darts out to experimentally do so, and you realize what's happening, it fills you with both surprise and even more desire, so you gasp out, your body arching up and some of your wetness no doubt catching even more against his tongue if the way that you catch him licking his lips consideringly just a moment later is anything to go by. 

 

Then, slowly, in the next moment, he begins to insert his fingers inside of you. It’s just one probing one at first, and though he causes more pleasure with just that one finger then you've ever done with several, soon it’s not enough and you’re guiding his movements verbally and demanding more. Yet even two or three aren't enough. 

 

It’s not enough for Mycroft either, because the feel of you so slick and wet underneath his gentle but probing ministrations has his breaths coming out in soft puffs through his parted lips and his manhood pressing even more insistently against his trousers, practically begging for release. So, doing something that he wouldn't have dared to have the courage to do earlier, but that he cannot, so overcome with his own desire, stop himself from doing now, he inserts his hand first inside his trousers and then inside his pants and begins to work away at himself at the same time he explores you, and his movements with both hands grow more quick and jerky until-

 

“Let me,” you breathe, for although you’d been enjoying watching the look of pure concentration that had been on his face, not to mention the way that his expression had slowly started to become more and more blissful, with his eyes even partly closing and his slightly parted lips curving upwards, you've come too far now to get enough satisfaction out of that alone. 

 

So Mycroft’s hands still, before he nods, slowly withdraws them both and swings off the bed. Then he takes a deep breath and steps out of both his trousers and underwear, before he tentatively comes to stand at the head of the bed so that he’s beside you. 

 

You roll onto your side towards him, every inch of your skin still throbbing for him, before slowly, and as you take in how beautiful he is, you cup your hands delicately around his hard member. 

 

You run your fingers carefully up and down its length, and although you're making the lightest of touches the action of them and the feel of your fingers there is enough to send Mycroft’s head arching back and enough for a gasp to escape his mouth. 

 

And though you make a few more careful movements, as you become more aware of his gaze on you, you draw your hand back. Then for a moment you both just stare at each other, your gazes steady, whilst both of your breaths leave you through slightly parted lips. 

 

Then, knowing that it’s time and that you’re both ready, more ready than you've ever been before for this moment, you share one last kiss with each other, your lips rubbing against each other’s lingeringly, before, as you draw apart, Mycroft moves so that his body is hovering over yours again, his arms lifting him up and keeping him separated from you for one final time. 

 

Then his expression goes from being a soft one to that of a more serious one as he looks at you, before he tells you, “You must say if it hurts too much for you at any time and I’ll stop.”

 

Yet even if the experience was utter agony for your body you can’t imagine any situation that would make you want to stop, so you just nod. But your reaction isn't good enough for Mycroft and he just gives you a bit of a determined look as if to tell you that he means every one of the words that he’s just spoken.

 

So, “I’ll tell you,” you breathe, as you curl one of your hands around his forearm and give it a bit of a squeeze. And, finally satisfied, Mycroft slowly begins to lower himself down upon you. 

 

You let out a bit of a gasp as the first tentative contact is made, and even though he enters you with the utmost care, slowly and inch by inch, the feel of him expanding your walls still hurts more than you could have ever imagined, and you tense up. Then, when he’s almost fully inside you, things become too much, so you stop him for a moment as sweat glistens on both your foreheads, by crying out a breathless little, “Wait.” And he looks at you anxiously with his lips slightly parted as he fights the urge to just enter you fully and begin to move. But then, after finally having got yourself together once more, you nod and tell him, “Okay,” so he closes the final gap between you. 

 

Both of you feel a little breathless and stunned for a moment, but the urge to move is irresistible for the pair of you, and so you begin to do so, slowly at first with Mycroft taking the lead, before, and as you begin to get more used to the sensation and your own desire overcomes you, you begin to move more fervently against him, demanding more. 

 

He thrusts in and out of you more forcefully, causing you to both gasp and groan, before all too soon you warn him, “Mycroft I-I”-

 

But, “I know,” he cries, with his face scrunched up a little, and then, “F/N, oh God,” he says, before, _“F/N!”_ he cries as he comes first, spilling his seed inside you, and the feel of him doing so makes you climax too. 

 

You cry out, _“Mycroft!”_ as you shudder against him. 

 

But the feel of your walls contracting against him just sends another load of his juices spilling into you, and so, still coming down from your own high, you rub at his back with both of your hands soothingly as it does so, before you hold him tightly as he shudders uncontrollably against you. 

 

Then, instead of there coming a sense of relief from him like you expect there to be as his body finishes its final shudder against you, his head jerks up instinctively so that he can look at you, before he blurts out, “Don’t leave me.”

 

And your brow furrows, before you get out, “Leave you? Why would I leave you?” whilst your fingers tighten against his back. 

 

Yet Mycroft seems too senseless to answer you properly for a moment, and he just presses a kiss to your collarbone and murmurs another little breathless, desperate, “Don’t leave me,” before he pushes himself off you and clambers off the bed. 

 

He pulls his underwear back on a moment later, and then, looking for all the world like he has the weight of the world upon his shoulders once more, he sits down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, his elbows on his knees as he rests his head in his hands. 

 

So, _“Myc?”_ you question, feeling both a little alarmed and worried about him once more, as you scramble tentatively towards him. 

 

But for a moment he just lets out another sigh. Then he lifts one of his hands free, before he grazes his hand against the floor, and picks up and tosses his shirt at you a moment later. 

 

You slip it on quickly, your skin shivering a little against the cool material of it, as your fingers do up its buttons clumsily. 

 

Then you lean forwards once more and press a tentative hand against his arm. 

 

And finally he has the words to tell you, “When you were lying there on the ice,” and something about the hollow tone of his voice makes you shiver as he does so, and makes something like dread fill your stomach. But still you listen as he goes on, “When you were just lying there,” and now he bites at his lip, so you squeeze his shoulder, encouraging him to continue, “I, well, it suddenly struck me, when I thought you might be hurt, just how much you mean to me, and what the past months have meant to me, a-and I guess what I've been struggling with all night F/N is the fact that it could end”-

 

But, “Why would it end?” you ask him, for you can’t think of any reason why it should. Not when you both love each other as much as you clearly do.

 

Yet he swings his head around so that he can look at you hazily, and you see that there’s something raw and red about those blue eyes of his, not to mention something so desperate, before he huffs out a breath as he moves his head. Then he gives a bit of a hopeless shrug as he reveals, “You could get hurt, o-or killed, or you could just decide that”-

 

But you don’t let him finish. For you’d felt such a swell of emotion and affection for him rise inside you as you’d watched him and listened to his earnest words of worry that it makes you shift forwards now and wrap your arms around the side of him. Then, as his tears begin to fall once more, you snuggle your head against the crook of his neck, before you press a soft kiss to it, and he lets out a watery chuckle as he feels you doing so. Then you ask him softly, “Do you know what I think?” before, you go on when he shakes his head, “I think that we’re both as bad as each other,” and then you smile when another watery chuckle escapes his lips. 

 

But, “Why?” Mycroft asks you curiously a moment later, his chin brushing against the top of your head as he moves his head a little. 

 

So you think about it all for another moment, trying to put your current innermost thoughts into words as you do so. Then, _“Because,”_ you tell him, “As much as you want me to think and talk about myself in a different light, I think you have just as much of a problem in following that same advice,” and Mycroft’s lips quirk upward momentarily. But then his face becomes more serious again as you rub at his skin for a moment with your fingers, before you go on, “I don’t think you have any idea how much you affect me sometimes, the way you made me feel tonight when you were putting on my ice skates, the way you made me feel just now”- and you break off for a moment. Then you confess in a voice that’s full of emotion, “Y-You made me feel beautiful, and I've _never_ felt like that before”- and then, as you break off again and tears begin to stream down your face, Mycroft turns so that he’s holding you in his arms as much as you’re holding him. 

 

Then, “That’s what I want you to feel like _all_ the time,” he murmurs, as he rests his chin on top of your hair now, and it’s your turn to let out a bit of a breathless watery giggle. 

 

Then your fingers rub against the skin on his back some more for a moment, before slowly they still. And then with your head resting against his chest, close to his heart, you confess, “I worry about losing you too,” and, “I worry about you going away with work and getting killed somewhere, or just someone one day killing you, or you dying in an accident…I worry that one day you’ll just wake up and decide that you don’t want to be with me, even tonight I was worrying that if I carried on being stupid you’d decide that you didn't want me any more”- and you break off as you laugh a bit at yourself now. For again you feel that Mycroft and you are just as bad as each other when it comes down to it. But even though you feel that and you know that you’re probably just being silly by worrying about a list of things that might never happen, you just can’t help it. For they might, and that’s the point that you can’t help worry about the most. That one day you might not have this. 

 

Yet although Mycroft knows the complexities of such worries too of course, for your worries largely correspond with his, in that moment, and at you speaking such words out loud, the answer that he’s perhaps been searching for all night finally comes to him, so he murmurs, “Perhaps the important thing is, that even if we haven’t got a forever with each other, like I’d like us to have, we've got right now.”

 

And you smile for a moment at that. Then, as you feel a surge of affection rise up within you for him because he’s somehow managed to find the words to alleviate both of your most primal fears in that moment, you breathe out, “I love you,” against his chest, before you look up at him. 

 

“And I you,” he tells you fondly, before he adds, “Don’t ever doubt that,” as he carefully brushes a piece of hair from your forehead and you smile at him, feeling tired but happy in that moment too.

 

Then you share another brief kiss with each other, before, as you pull away from each other, he murmurs, “Come, let’s get you underneath that duvet, before you freeze.” 

 

And though you smile a bit at that, mindful of his sensitivity about you getting ill or anything worse at the moment, you take his words seriously, and just run a quick hand through his hair again, before you make to follow his order. 

 

He joins you a moment later after he’s slipped on some teal coloured pyjamas and you've reassured him that you’ll be warm enough sleeping in his shirt. 

 

Then you wriggle closer to each other and he slips his hand onto your waist. And it’s then, when you’re both just staring at each other and feeling blessed for the moments that you've shared together tonight, that you hear the chimes of midnight being announced somewhere off in the distance. 

 

And the fact that there’s still a world that exists aside from you both and this bedroom makes you both start a bit with surprise, before both of your heads turn towards the window. Then Mycroft lets out a soft chuckle as you turn back to each other and you grin knowingly at one another. 

 

Then, “Happy Christmas F/N,” Mycroft murmurs after he’s taken in how beautiful you look under the soft lamplight for another moment, before his hand brushes gently against your hair once more. 

 

So, “Happy Christmas Mycroft,” you tell him, suddenly sleepier, and so he just presses one last kiss against your forehead, before he reaches to switch off the light. 

 

*

 

You’re still tangled in each other’s bodies when you wake, and for a moment you just take in the low stream of light that’s filtering in through the window, before your eyes catch sight of the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock that inform you it’s a little after eight. Then slowly, wanting to look at Mycroft and drink him in once more, you untuck your head from beneath his and draw back a little. You feel his fingers shift and tighten against your back as you do so, and when you look at his face it is to see that his blue eyes are already open and staring at you. 

 

So, not sure whether you've woken him or not, you begin to say, “Sorry I”-

 

But, “It’s okay,” Mycroft begins softly, cutting you off, before he adds, “I've been awake a while.”

 

So, _“Oh?”_ you question now, beginning to feel a little uncertain, not to mention a little worried, for what does him not being able to sleep as soundly as you mean? Does it mean that he’s gone back to worrying about the things you discussed with each other last night?

 

But, “Nothing to worry about,” Mycroft informs you gently, as he brushes the pad of his thumb against your cheek. And then, seeing that you’re still not a hundred per-cent convinced he goes on, “I was just trying to memorize every detail of you that’s all.”

 

And his words make your lips quirk upward in spite of yourself. So, “Did you?” you ask. 

 

And Mycroft gives a little smile himself now, before he shrugs at you in a casual fashion. Then he confesses, “I think I might need to see your body a few more times for that.” 

 

And you blush. But then your face becomes more serious when you notice the intent way that he’s staring at you, and you’re just wondering what’s going on in that clever mind of his when his face clears once more. 

 

Then, “I believe we wished each other a happy Christmas last night, but, now that it’s properly morning I feel inclined to say it again. So happy Christmas F/N,” he says, before he leans forward to peck you quickly on the lips. 

 

So, “Happy Christmas Myc,” you murmur softly as he pulls back from you, your eyes going in between his eyes and lips, and he just stares at you in a knowing kind of way for a moment. 

 

Then he lets go of you and shifts across a little, before he turns his back on you and swings out of bed. But when you notice that he’s making his way to the door you begin to wonder where he’s going and whether you should begin to dress and follow him. 

 

Yet, “I won’t be a moment,” Mycroft calls back to you over his shoulder softly, as if he’d just read your mind. 

 

So you watch him pad out of the room, before you slowly push the duvet back off you and slide to the edge of the bed yourself. Your eyes go to the floor automatically because that’s where you remember all your clothes being, but you soon see that they’re not there so your eyes swivel up again. 

 

As they do you look around and begin to take in Mycroft’s room more, noticing how there seems to be a theme of dark brown wood and white as the main colour scheme, though after further inspection you notice that the walls do appear to be more of a cream colour, and that they make a nice contrast to the large, dark wooden wardrobe and chest of drawers that lay just in front of the far wall, opposite the plush, comfortable bed that you’re currently sitting on. Then you notice that your clothes have now been neatly folded and placed on a singular chair, made out of a lighter wood, which is off to the right of the wardrobe and chest of drawers. So, feeling a little cold and keen to be a little more dressed by the time that Mycroft gets back, you get off the bed and make your way across there. As you do so you feel a slight soreness in between the top of your thighs, but you shake off the minor irritation quickly, before your eyes take in the fact that Mycroft’s clothes have also been placed there, folded neatly just beneath yours. Then you locate your underwear and pull off Mycroft’s shirt, before you pull on both your bra and knickers, and you feel a little embarrassed about Mycroft picking them up and bringing them over there, despite the fact that you know that after last night you really shouldn't be feeling such a thing. Then your fingers move automatically towards your cotton t-shirt. But, at the last minute, you change your mind and pull Mycroft’s white shirt back on instead. Then, once you've done up the majority of its buttons, you turn back to the bed, and as you do so you let out a little gasp. For over the bed hangs a beautiful portrait, which you come to realize depicts the fall of Lucifer. And even when you resume sitting on the bed you’re still gazing up at it in both astonishment and the fact that you’d missed such a thing last night when Mycroft re-enters the room. 

 

He stops in the doorway, first because in the clear light of day he can more fully appreciate the startling sight of you in his shirt with the buttons loosely done up and the fact that your legs are still on show, and then at the way that you’re gazing up at the portrait. And as he stares at you and takes you in he can’t help but feel even more like you’re constantly surprising him with how you can make him feel, and that perhaps you've been doing such a thing ever since you first invited him to the park that day. 

 

So he clears his throat and shifts his hold on the gifts that he’s juggling in his arms, before he watches as your head swivels around to look at him. And then he says, “Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones, 1894,” as he nods his head to the painting, and you make a brief, ‘Ah,’ of acknowledgement, before he goes on, “It’s a replica, but I thought there was something ironic about it hanging over my bed,” and then, “Of course I didn't get to appreciate such irony to its full extent until last night,” he finishes with a wry smile, and you have to blush and grin a bit yourself at that, because only Mycroft could look so pleased about having had sex underneath a painting that depicts the fall of Lucifer. Then you just grin at each other for a moment. But then Mycroft says in a more business-like fashion, “Never mind about that now,” before he goes on, “I can tell you more about it later if you’d like,” and then he just pauses for a moment so that he can savour those words. 

 

And you can tell that he’s appreciating the fact that for today you've got a later with each other at least, but you don’t want his mind to go to how you might not have a forever again, so you quickly tell him, “I’d like that,” with a soft smile, in an attempt to prevent it from doing so. 

 

And you seem to have succeeded in your task, for he looks pleased. Then he says in a brisk fashion, “But for now I’d like you to open these,” before he strides across to you and sits on the bed in front of you, laying out everything in between you. 

 

“All of them?” you exclaim, as your eyes go from the presents on the bed back to him again, because there’s five presents there and you just can’t comprehend the fact that they all might be for you. 

 

And, “Yes,” Mycroft tells you softly, as he reaches across to grasp your hand with his, and you look at him then. Look at him as he continues, “I-I thought of so many things that I thought you’d like, or appreciate, and, well, I wanted you to have them all.” 

 

And although you don’t want the mood to sour you feel sure that the real underlying reason he might have bought you so much is because of what you’d both spoken about last night. So you ask him shrewdly, “It wasn't because even though you might have only realised how worried you were about the possibility of losing me last night you’d perhaps known it sub-consciously for a while?” 

 

And Mycroft smiles a little at how much you know him again. Then he gets out, “I think perhaps I've known it sub-consciously ever since the day you invited me to the park,” with a bit of a tight smile, before his face crumples a little as he ducks his head. 

 

And you make a sound of sympathy at him, before you breathe, “Oh _Myc_ ,” and lean across to squeeze him briefly. Then, as you lean back once more, you tell him, “You don’t have to buy my affection with presents though, or with anything else, I already want a forever with you.” 

 

And he smiles gratefully at you at that. 

 

So you kiss him briefly again, before you tell him, “So, with that being said, I think we should do a deal with each other,” and as Mycroft looks curiously at you, you tell him, “From now on, we only get each other one gift, because I only got one for you today and”-

 

“I want to spoil you”- he begins, dismissing the fact that you’d only got him one gift with a wave of his hand. 

 

“So spoil me through that one gift,” you say with a bit of a grin, yet Mycroft’s too caught up in smiling at your remark himself to notice that your grin was a forced one.

 

Then, whilst you try to get your mind off another issue of yours, your fingers go to a rectangular shaped gift that’s been wrapped in expensive looking blue wrapping paper, complete with a cream bow, but they soon freeze because Mycroft clears his throat. So you look back up at him again. 

 

Then, “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, “But there’s a certain order to them all,” and he looks both a little serious and suddenly anxious now, as if you might take offence or find yourself becoming disheartened at such a thing. 

 

Yet although you’re surprised you can’t help but appreciate the Mycroftness of it all. So your lip twitches and your eyes go back to the bed as your hand naturally withdraws from the present, before you look back up at him again as you say, “No, that-that certainly makes everything more interesting,” and he gives you a bit of a tentative half-smile. 

 

Then his hands go to pick up another rectangular shaped gift, this one wrapped in silver and fastened together by a blue bow, before, and with his eyes dark and serious as they latch on to you, he hands it to you. And then, “Happy Christmas F/N,” he tells you again as you take it gently from him. 

 

So, “I don’t mind but I can’t help but notice that, that’s the third time that you've said that to me,” you tell him, and you feel curious now. 

 

“I know,” Mycroft breathes, before he looks suddenly uncertain and looks away from you.

 

Your brow furrows as he does so, and then you notice the way that one of his hands shifts a little anxiously against the duvet, rubbing at a fold of it between his forefinger and thumb. So you put the present that he’s just given you to one side for the moment, before you slide off the bed into a standing position. Mycroft notices you doing so and swallows a little apprehensively, his shoulders going tense. But they relax slightly a moment later when you first make your way to him with concern in your e/c eyes, before you begin to stroke his cheek briefly with the back of your hand. Then, “What is it?” you ask. 

 

So he turns towards you more fully, before he gestures for you to sit on his knee, and then when you’re half-leaning there with your hands cupped around the side of his neck and one of his delicately upon your waist to steady you, he looks away from you again for a moment, biting at his lip as he tries to find the words. 

 

Then, when he thinks he has, he looks back at you again, before he confesses, “This is probably going to sound silly to you,” so you kiss at his cheek encouragingly, which makes him smile a little, before he goes on, “But I've never really, well aside from my family of course, had anyone to spend Christmas with.”

 

And you make yet another sympathetic noise now, before you turn so that you’re facing him so that you can pull him close to you, and your hands come down to rub at his back as you do so. Then as you hear him clearing his throat as he tries to get himself under control once more you breathe, “That doesn't sound silly to me at all,” with your mouth close to his ear, and he shivers a little against you without being able to help it. Then, as you pull back from him a little and turn to the side, he smiles in a watery fashion, before he clears his throat once more. 

 

Then he says, “I'm keeping you from your presents,” in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 

So, knowing that he’s feeling embarrassed from his attack of emotion again, you knock your hip against him a little as you say, “I didn't realise Christmas was about to expire, I thought we had all day,” in an attempt to get him to smile some more. 

 

And he chuckles, so you kiss him on the cheek and squeeze at his hand briefly, before you go back to sit on the bed once more. 

 

Then slowly, and with his eyes on you again, your hands go back to his first gift. 

 

There’s a pretty gift label on the wrapper-white with a sprig of holly in one corner-and on it Mycroft’s written: **For my dear F/N, this is what I considered you’d made me feel that day. With much love, Mycroft.**

 

The words make you swallow, and you don’t need to ask what day he’s referring to, so for a moment you just stare down at his beautiful script and run your finger gently over some of the words instead. And you can’t know how that simple act from you takes Mycroft’s breath away once more. 

 

Then, slowly, you begin to open it. 

 

Underneath the wrapper lies a long thin pale brown box, and you look curiously back up to Mycroft for a moment, but he’s not giving anything away, just staring at you as he wears a rather tight-lipped smile, and as he no doubt hopes that you’ll like whatever it is that he’s given you, so you just send him a bit of an encouraging smile, before you look down again.

 

Then both slowly and deliberately you remove the box’s lid, and what you see inside it makes your breath leave you in a gasp. 

 

For, stretched out across the length of the box is one side of the most beautiful bracelet that you've ever seen, pure silver with butterflies of the same colour dangling from it, and as you peer closer to it and catch sight of the jewelled emerald and sapphire encrusted wings, you blurt out, “Oh my God, Mycroft, that must have cost you a fortune!” 

 

But, “You’re more than worth it my dear,” is all he tells you with a bit of a shrug when you look at his both suddenly pleased and relieved, tired face, so you fling your arms around him and send your gift off your lap and onto the duvet as you do so, which makes Mycroft let out a bit of a surprised chuckle. “Besides,” he goes on once he’s recovered a little, and as you pull away from him you see that his cheeks are tinged with a pleasant pink, “Like I said before I want to spoil you.”

 

“Well, thank you,” you tell him, giving him a quick kiss on the lips, before you squeeze at his shoulder with your hand. 

 

“I take it you like it then?” Mycroft asks you with a small yet pleased smile toying about his lips. 

 

So, _“Like?”_ you question, before you tell him in a rush, “Myc it’s-it’s the most gorgeous bracelet that I've ever seen,” and as you wave your hands about in the air for effect Mycroft chuckles a bit, before you move back and take the box in your hands again. 

 

Mycroft lets you peer down and admire it for another moment, and he feels a swoop of something as he notices the pretty smile that you wear on your face, whilst you do so. Then he takes your hand in his again, before he says, “That day at the park, when we were on the big wheel and you stood up, do you remember it?” 

 

So you nod as you look back at him, for of course you do. 

 

Then Mycroft’s face becomes even more serious as he gets further lost in the memory, and he absent-mindedly shifts his hand upon yours and toys with your fingers, before he murmurs, “Even then I sensed that there was something different about that day, and I was already trying to work out what it was. But there was this moment, just after I stood up and joined you, where you looked at me, a-and I felt something deep inside me,” and he pauses for a moment. Then he goes on more fervently, “And this is going to sound silly, but I’d never felt like that before, and I had no idea what it was.” And you make to shift towards him again now, but something about the way that he looks at you stops you, so you just listen instead as he goes on, “Then when we were going around the stalls and I saw the wind chimes with all the butterflies on them it occurred to me that, that’s what I might have been feeling, it wasn't until later on that I properly realized what it was.”

 

And you stroke at his hand as you think about his words. Then you say, “So that’s why you seemed so lost in thought back then?” 

 

And Mycroft nods, before he says rather abruptly, “Sorry, I-I guess it’s not the happiest of memories considering what it led on to you feeling at the stall”-

 

But you shake your head at him now. Then you tell him, “I think it is,” before you go on with even more certainty in your voice, “Without it things might have turned out differently.”

 

And you go on to look at each other quite seriously for a moment, your touching hands quite still against the others. 

 

Then, “I'm glad they didn't,” Mycroft murmurs. 

 

“So am I,” you say with a relived smile back at him, before you go on to accept your next gift. 

 

Your next three gifts turn out to be just as nice as the first, and as you open and discover first a gorgeous collection of expensive looking bookmarks that have your initials at the top of them and Mycroft’s at the bottom [“So you can think of me sometimes when you’re busy getting lost in those books you love so much,” Mycroft teases you gently, before he reverts into another of his tight-lipped smiles] followed by a beautiful frame that Mycroft’s slipped in what he knows to be your favourite photograph of you and him inside of-and Mycroft has to laugh a bit as he tells you how difficult it was for him to keep quiet when you’d come to realise that, that photo was missing-and another frame-this one an electronic one that makes you gasp when it takes you through all the photos that you've ever had with Mycroft, right from the slightly awkward freshness of the first one to the more comfortable and relaxed poses that you’re pulling in the last-you start to get a sense of where he’s going with his ordered gifts. Get a sense that he’s reminding you about the beginning and how everything was so uncertain then and celebrating how far you've already come with each other, just in case you should ever start to feel uncertain about such a thing. And as you get such a sense it makes you want to have a forever with him even more. 

 

But then his fifth and final gift surprises you. For as you unwrap it you see that Mycroft’s gone back to the beginning, and back to that day in the park, because he’s got you another bracelet. This one is very different to the first though. For attached to the delicate silver chain are several charms. One of an ice cream, one of a ghost, one of a butterfly, one of a blade of grass and another of the sun. And as you delicately touch them and remember how that day had turned out so perfect and memorable you begin to feel choked with emotion again. 

 

Mycroft notices your face wavering, and so he grasps and strokes at your hand once more, before he breathes, “That day was so special to me, and whilst you can wear the butterfly one I got you anywhere I wanted to get you something that could represent so many different parts of that day and make you think only of us when you wear it. And when you do, and when you remember that day, I just want you to know that we’ll have more days like that in the future, I’ll give them to you”- and that’s all it takes for a bit of a strangled, watery gurgle to leave your lips, before you fling yourself at him once more. 

 

Then, _“Myc,”_ you get out in a bit of a wail, before you bury your head automatically against his shoulder, your body trembling now, and he holds you tightly to him, his hands rubbing against your back. But then, feeling like you should be saying something more you lift your head up off his shoulder once more, and then as tears stream down your face you breathe, “Mycroft I love you.”

 

So, “I love you too,” he murmurs, before as your hands tighten on him he whispers, “Shh,” so you bury your head against him once more, this time against his chest. Then he rocks you a little, burying his nose in your hair as he does so, before you both still again. 

 

Then, “Sorry, I'm getting you all wet,” you mumble as you pull back from him a moment later and wipe at your eyes. 

 

But, “As long as they’re happy ones I don’t mind,” Mycroft tells you. 

 

So, “They’re definitely happy ones,” you assure him with a bit of a laugh, before you tell him more earnestly, “Thank you so much for all of your presents, I can’t tell you how lucky I feel right now”-

 

But, “There’s one more hanging in the wardrobe,” he informs you, before you can go on. 

 

And your face transforms again, before, _“Myc!”_ you scold him as you automatically get off the bed once more, because you’re beginning to feel _very_ embarrassed about the amount of money that he’s spent on you. 

 

But, “I wanted to,” is all he tells you with another shrug, so you pat at his shoulder affectionately and place a quick kiss to his cheek as you make your way past him. 

 

Then as he turns to watch you, you make your way to the wardrobe. 

 

You've just stopped in front of it when he informs you, “It’s on the back of the door,” softly. 

 

So you nod, and then slowly, as if your very own Narnia might be waiting inside it you open the wardrobe.

 

Your eyes go to the back of its door immediately and you let out a gasp of astonished wonder when you see the dress that’s hanging there. It’s gold with rather fluttery material clipped onto it, similar to the material used for tinsel, and it takes your breath away because you've never seen or been the owner of something so exquisitely beautiful before. 

 

Then, as Mycroft watches you as you begin to run your fingers over it, he tells you, “I thought you could wear it to this,” and his words don’t make sense, so you spin back to him, before you let out a delighted little squeal when you see that he’s now holding up two tickets to the West End show that you've always wanted to see. 

 

“Oh my God Mycroft,” you exclaim excitedly as you rush back to him, and he grins, looking pleased with himself. Then, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you tell him in between kissing first his cheek and then along his jaw line. 

 

So, “I have to say that there’s one more,” Mycroft confesses, wriggling a bit underneath your shower of kisses, before, “Just the one mind,” he tells you when you lean back and he sees that you've got that torn look between excitement and exasperation at him spending so much on you once more. 

 

Then you step back a bit as he makes to get up, before you watch as he gets down on his hands and knees so that he can prise something out from underneath the bed, and your eyes can’t help but go to his firm and perfect behind as you do so. 

 

Then, unable to resist, you bend down to give it a quick pat, before you hurriedly jerk your hand back and stumble backwards a moment later when Mycroft bangs his head against the bed. He curses and lets out a bit of a flustered breath just a moment later. 

 

So, “Oh God, Mycroft, I'm sorry,” you blurt out, though you can’t help but laugh a bit too. 

 

But, “It’s okay,” Mycroft assures you, with a bit of a sheepish expression on his face as he shifts out from underneath the bed once more, though he raises a tentative hand to his head as he does so. 

 

So, “Let me kiss it better,” you tell him, and Mycroft of course has no objection to that so he remains quite still, whilst you bend down and put your hands against his shoulders, before you press a soft kiss to the side of his hair. 

 

He lets out a bit of a breath as you pull back, and then he turns properly back to the bed and slowly draws out a large and near flat square box from underneath it, before he lifts it up onto the bed. 

 

Then as he stands up you go to stand next to him so that the both of you are now facing the bed, and as you begin to bend down closer to the box Mycroft can’t resist giving a gentle little pat to your bum to get you back for earlier. 

 

 _“Hey,”_ you get out playfully, as you straighten up and look at him, before you laugh a bit at the look of pure, questioning innocence that’s on his face. 

 

Then you dart forwards and give him a bit of a lingering kiss, which makes him release an, _‘Mmm,’_ of pleasure into your mouth that in turn sends every nerve of your body shooting up, before you draw away from him once more and return your attention to the final gift that he’s given you. 

 

Then you slowly take the swirling inky black and grey lid off the box, before you let out a bit of a breath at the thin covering of white crepe paper that acts as a final barrier to your last present from him. 

 

And then, with slightly trembling fingers, you pull the paper slowly aside, before you make a noise of wonder as you finally come to see what’s laying there. For nestled upon some more crepe paper is one of the wind chimes that Mycroft and you had seen at the old woman’s stall that summer. And seeing it there makes you feel both emotional again and confused. 

 

So, _“How-?”_ you ask him in a choked voice. 

 

And Mycroft turns you gently towards him now, before he takes your hands in his. Then he reveals, “After I got home that day, all I wanted to do was sit down and re-live the whole thing in my mind,” and you let out a little breath now, for you remember that, that’s exactly how you’d felt too, before you listen as he continues, “But even though I begun to do so, I just couldn't get over the feeling that I should go back to the park and buy you one of those wind chimes. You’d seemed so fond of them, and I wanted you to have something physical so that you could remember the day by, so I went,” and Mycroft takes a little breath now. “But the stalls were already starting to be packed up by the time I got back there, and for a moment I worried that I was too late. Thankfully I wasn't, and the old woman we saw knew at once what I’d come for and she pressed one of the wind chimes into my hands without a word, just with a knowing stare. She wouldn't even let me pay for it, and I’d quite intended to give it to you when we saw each other the following day, but something made me hang on to it a bit longer, until now,” Mycroft continues, before he takes another little breath and says, “So I hope that although I didn't pay anything, and although you've had to wait a while for it you still like it.”

 

And, “I do,” you tell him now, before you say, “It’s the most perfect final gift that you could have given me,” and really it is, for now you've got something from that first memorable day with him, which will now, because of him giving it to you today, remind you not only of that first day but of all your relationship with him so far, and you stand on your tiptoes so that you can kiss him again. And as you do so you feel a wave of happiness and a deep-seated appreciation for him. But then, as it continues you feel a great pang of something else rise up in you too. 

 

And even though Mycroft knows that his gifts have stirred a lot of memories inside you and made you feel emotional, when you slowly pull away from him, your lip clinging to his until the very last moment as you do so, he sees that something else in your eyes too. And as he does so and he realizes that it’s something like unhappiness or unease he tries to work out what’s suddenly put it there. But he can’t. So, as you smile at him in a rather strained fashion, before you tell him, “I’ll go and get you yours now,” and then let go of him, moving your hand diagonally across his chest as you do so, he turns and watches after you feeling the utmost puzzlement. For you’d been so happy, he _knows_ that you’d been so happy, so why weren't you still? 

 

And he’s still pondering over it all as he sits down on the corner of the bed when you return, looking a little troubled and unsure, whilst you carry a singular, long red package. 

 

He stands up as you enter and tries to smile at you encouragingly, hoping that might lighten your mood and cause you to snap out of whatever it is that’s suddenly troubling you. Yet it doesn't seem to, for you only manage to give him a half-smile, and again he wonders what on earth can be the matter. Then as you both sit back down on the bed together, surrounded by wrapping paper and the gifts he gave you, he wonders if he should ask about whatever’s on your mind. But when you just pass his gift to him wordlessly he decides not to, turning his attention to that instead. 

 

And he can’t help but smile a little at the way that you've obviously tried to make an effort to wrap up his gift neatly, but he can tell from the way its been done a little crookedly that wrapping is not your forte. He can’t honestly say that he minds such a thing though. For it’s just a new thing that he’s discovered about you, which he now loves and can relate to you. 

 

And he smiles again at first when he flicks back the robin gift tag, which reads: _Mycroft, I love you, F/N._ But then it occurs to him how unusual it is for you to have put such a thing in a straightforward manner, for he knows that you're a complicated person like he is, and that’s when the first alarm bell begins to ring in his head. But he tries to push such a thing aside nonetheless as he begins to open his gift from you. 

 

The alarm bells soon come back though when he sees that you've gotten him a bottle of the finest and most expensive scotch that you could both find and afford, for although he’s sure that he’ll like it he can’t help but feel a little disappointed and surprised by how impersonal it is. 

 

And a flicker of such emotion must ripple across his face, because a moment later you exclaim, “I knew it, y-you don’t like it do you?” and your loud and slightly accusing tone makes the box, which contains the bottle nearly slip from his fingers, so he places it carefully down on the floor, before he turns to you. 

 

Then, “No I do, F/N I”- he begins. 

 

But, “I wasn't sure what to get you,” you confess suddenly, so his body stills, whilst his eyes flicker a little as he watches you carefully. Then, “Everything you've got already is so nice,” you go on, “I-I wasn't sure how to compete with it all, or find something completely original.” And feeling bad for you Mycroft makes to shift closer to you. But before he can say anything you go on quietly, “So I thought about it all.” Then, “For ages I swear,” you add quickly, as you look up at him with wide eyes as if he might not believe you, so he takes your hand with his again and puts it in between both of his, before he rubs at it soothingly. “And it took me a while, but finally I came up with an idea that might be good enough”-

 

So, “It is, I'm sure it will taste”- Mycroft begins, as he attempts to reassure you. 

 

But, “Not the scotch,” you tell him a little fiercely, before you wipe at the tears that have started to fall from your eyes with your free hand. Then you shift a little and swallow, as you feel bad for the way you’d just spoken to him, before you confess, “Something else.” And Mycroft’s just about to ask you what that something else is when you go on, “So, for a while I thought it was a really good idea and I got it all sorted out and I was looking forward to giving it to you. But then, the more I thought about it and the closer it got to Christmas the more I started to think that maybe you’d just think it was silly and that it wasn't right after all. So I-I changed my mind,” and Mycroft, noticing how teary you are, rubs at your shoulder for a moment, before his hand goes back to yours once more. “But then there wasn't enough time to think, so in the end I just got you the scotch instead, but I knew,” you go on, and you huff out a bit of a breath now, before you continue, “I _knew_ it wouldn't be good enough.” And you sound so frustrated and upset with the whole thing that by the time you finish all Mycroft wants to do is make you feel better again. Yet before he can you tell him, “I'm sorry Myc, you got me so many nice things and now I just”-

 

But Mycroft knows instinctively what to say now, so, “Do you have the present that you were originally going to give me with you now?” he asks. 

 

And you bite at your lip, before you nod. Then you confess, “I've got it in my bag, but it’s not wrapped or anything.”

 

So, “Would you like to fetch it?” Mycroft asks you gently, and after a small hesitation you nod. 

 

Then, with Mycroft looking at you as encouragingly as he can, you get up and pad out of the room. 

 

You feel fidgety and nervous on your way down, and by the time that you return to the bedroom you've almost changed your mind about giving it to him, but you try and move as purposefully back to him as you can nonetheless. 

 

Mycroft watches you with his brow furrowed as you do so, and as you sit on the bed next to him you can tell that he thinks you haven’t got anything with you and that you've changed your mind. 

 

So when he begins, “Maybe”- and you know that he’s going to suggest that maybe you can give whatever it is to him later that day, you open your hands, like a butterfly spreading its wings for the first time, so that you can reveal the small black box that’s lying in between them. 

 

And another ripple of emotion crosses over Mycroft’s face, before a curious expression follows it as both of his eyebrows quirk up. 

 

Then, “Happy Christmas Myc,” you tell him breathily, and Mycroft’s eyes go to yours again, and your eyes lock together for one single beat, before slowly you pass the box to him. 

 

He takes it from you and looks at you again for a moment, before he looks back at it. Then, after he swallows, and desperately hopes that whatever it is won’t cause another ripple of disappointment to flash over his face, for your sake more than his own, he tentatively prises it open. 

 

A plain silver ring rests inside it, and the sight of it puzzles him for a moment and makes him let out a little breath, because it's a near perfect replica of the one that he already wears on a day to day basis, the one that he’s wearing now in fact. 

 

But then, “Look around the inside of it,” you tell him, sounding a little breathless because of the apprehension you feel. 

 

So he carefully plucks out the ring to do so, and what he sees immediately takes him by surprise and makes him feel emotional. For there, around the inside of the ring, are the words, _‘You’re perfect to me.’_

 

 _“F/N”-_ he gasps out automatically, as he raises his head to look at you once more, lowering the ring so that it’s clasped in his hand as it rests on his lap.

 

And your lips quirk up in a thoughtful fashion, before you cover his hand with your own. Then you attempt to explain, “Whilst you were thinking that you wanted to get one of those wind chimes for me, when I got home one of the things that I couldn't get out of my head was the way that you’d acted in the hall of mirrors and the things that you’d said. For you’d made yourself so vulnerable to me and trusted me enough to do so,” and you pause for breath now. Then you go on, “So when I was trying to work out what to get you for Christmas, I knew that if I could I wanted to get you something that would last, and, which would more importantly show you and remind you of my feelings, no matter what you’re going through. Then I thought of the ring and when I did I knew that it would probably be best if I got you something similar to what you wear now, because that way if you wanted to wear it to work then you could and it wouldn't attract any attention,” and you pause for another moment, before you continue a little more fervently, “I thought if you were having a bad day at work and couldn't phone me or whatever then you could at the very least take the ring off and see the words there.” And as you finish you sound both a little triumphant from having given it to him and from having finally got the words that you've been storing up for ages out in the open. Then, “You do like it don’t you?” you check. 

 

And Mycroft’s about to open his mouth and tell you that of course he does and that it’s the most amazing thing that anyone’s ever given to him, when, too breathless and choked with emotion he finds that he can’t. So, for a moment he simply looks down at his lap and take a deep breath, and you move your hand off his to give him a moment’s space and so that he can flex and shift his own a little, but still he doesn't seem able to speak. 

 

And when you see his shoulders beginning to shake you ask, _“Myc?”_ in alarm. 

 

So, not wanting you to worry, he lifts his head up and says in one trembling breath, “I love it F/N,” and then after a stab of something hits his chest he gasps, “Christ, I love it, I love _you_ , so much,” and you feel astonished to see that he’s crying again, and that tears are shimmering in his blue eyes, before he ducks his head down once more. 

 

And again you just want to hold him and comfort him, so you get off the bed and shift so that you’re standing in between his legs, before you cry out, “Oh _Myc_ ,” softly, as you place your hands on his shoulders and pull him close once more. 

 

And Mycroft puts the ring carefully aside on the bed, before his hands climb up to rest upon your waist once more. Then whilst you comb a hand soothingly through his hair and press gentle kisses to it he presses his head just beneath your shoulder and breathes you in, and as he does so an idea comes to him, and he feels so immediately taken with it that he pulls his head back from you at once and blurts out, “Move in with me.” 

 

But for a moment, feeling stunned by his words, you just look at him. Then, _“Myc?”_ you begin uncertainly. 

 

And, knowing you think that this is just him acting on the spur of the moment and feeling frustrated that everything he’s currently feeling and thinking haven’t been transported into his question to you, not to mention wanting to explain and make you see such things, he shifts his position and takes your hands securely in his, before he says, “No, listen to me F/N, no one, no one has _ever_ put that much thought, or _love_ ”- and his voice cracks a bit now-“Into a gift that they were buying for me before, a-and everything that you've given me since that day, all the times you've understood me, like I said last night I just don’t want it to end F/N”- and overcome with emotion once more he pauses again now. Then he goes on with both something desperate and fervent in his tone, “But if you moved in, we’d have more time together, more of that _now_ that I was telling you about last night, and”- yet he breaks off then, for there’s something odd quivering in your expression, and you don’t look as excited or taken with the idea as he thought you’d be and suddenly he thinks that-

 

But, “It’s not that I don’t want to move in with you,” you tell him, before you add, “I’d _love_ to move in with you,” as you tug one of your hands free from his so that your fingers can gently explore and weave through the hair that’s by the side of his ear. Then, “It’s just, I can’t do the moving about between everywhere that you do, I can’t live in a big house like this one week and then in an apartment the next, I just can’t, I need somewhere stable, I need a _home_ Mycroft”- and overcome with your own emotion you break off. For you’d love to live with him if you could, but you know too, just from having witnessed how much he’s had to move back and forth between places in the last few months, that, that sort of lifestyle wouldn't be right for you and that it would make you miserable. Yet of course knowing such a thing and being honest with him about it makes you feel pained too, for how much you wish that circumstances were different and that you could just move in with him! 

 

But as you've been saying such things Mycroft’s eyes have been flickering across your face, whilst his mind has been working frantically to find the perfect solution, and then finally he thinks that he’s stumbled across it. So he comes out of his thought and looks at you properly again as he urges, “Then just move in here”-

 

 _“But”-_ you begin, thinking that he must have misunderstood you, and feeling frustrated without being able to help yourself at the prospect of having to try and explain yourself to him again. 

 

Yet he just shifts closer to you at that and grasps even more at your fingers as he says, “You wouldn't have to move around then, you could be here, and I’d be here as often as I could and”-

 

So, “I could really do that? And I could decorate it and everything?” you interrupt him a little breathlessly now, your eyes already beginning to sparkle at the thought of being able to do such a thing and at being able to turn this house into a proper home for you both. 

 

Then when Mycroft nods you let out a squeal of excitement, before you fling your arms around him. 

 

And he wriggles a little as you shower his face with kisses, before he stares at you in a captivated fashion when you pull back from him, your hands loosely on his shoulders, and when he sees how alive and happy you look. 

 

Then a second later he can’t help but kiss you, before he breathes, “I want a forever with you F/N,” as he pulls back from you once more, and his words send a pleasant shiver right through you.

 

So when you tell him, “I want a forever with you too Myc,” it comes out in a rather breathless fashion. 

 

And then your tongues and teeth come to clash against each other’s in one of the most passionate and desperate kisses that you've ever shared, before you pull away from each other again a few moments later.

 

And you just get to see a flash of the desire that’s in Mycroft’s eyes and just become aware of the firmer press of his hands upon your waist, before he breathes out, _“F/N,”_ and the way that he says it is so passionate that it sends goose pimples to your skin. Then his lips go to your neck again and you tremble against him as his nose pushes against the skin there, becoming more consumed with your own desire as it does so, before you cry out when after he unbuttons his shirt from you and lets it drop down to the floor he presses the side of his nose roughly against your stomach and then begins to kiss you there and just beneath your breasts. 

 

Your underwear and his clothes come off just as quickly and then Mycroft gets frustrated and impatient at the amount of things that are in the way on the bed. So you tease him that perhaps he shouldn't have bought you so much after all and he lets out a growl that sends warmth straight through you, before he pulls you down to the floor. 

 

You end up with your head arching up off the floor just in front of the bedside cabinet as you gasp and respond to Mycroft thrusting into you. 

 

It doesn't take long for either of you to come, and you do so first this time, shrieking out Mycroft’s name as your hands claw into his back. 

 

Mycroft comes a moment later, and as you sense the slight tension and vulnerability that he feels inside him as he loses control so completely you cradle his head to you and breathe, “It’s okay Myc, I've got you,” and as he gives his last shudder of release, before he lifts his head to smile gratefully at you, you smile back at him.

 

Then, _“Forever?”_ he questions, before he presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. 

 

So, “Forever,” you assure him with a lazy kind of smile, and he smiles back at you.


End file.
